#leather horse saddle

[sazaartack]

What Makes the Best Horse Saddles Essential for Riders?

The best horse saddles are intended for the best comfort and performance, confirming a balanced fit for both horse and rider. A superior horse riding saddle helps allocate weight evenly, decreasing strain throughout rides. Whether you are a rival or trail rider, spending in the right saddle is vital for a pleasant experience. Determine the difference between the best horse saddles accessible!

[devdas5z]

[wandaluvstacos]

how come I can't find any recreations of the Scythian horse armor on a real horse? you know how bad I want to see this on a moving horse???

tbh, the mane thing seems like the easiest to recreate. kinda wanna try it (sadly I will never have the time or motivation)

[eelbergine]

Oh my fuck I need the Fleet saddle I am snorting

[sednonamoris]

okay imagining christmases before everything went to shit w the van der linde gang 🙇 i feel like the girls decorated the wagons and pearson cooked up a Feast - a proper christmas goose hunted by one of their own - with a half-high prayer from reverend swanson before they all dug in. gifts exchanged were always humble but meaningful and most importantly dutch dressed up as santa and handed them out. little jack was old enough at this point to know it was uncle dutch dressed up but young enough to be entirely charmed by it. screaming crying throwing up thinking abt them all singing around the fires.

[coruscantiscribbler]

Tack shopping. Ouch. Very expensive. On the plus side the stuff lasts for years, but I realized I needed to buy new stirrup irons and stirrup leathers for my new saddle that will arrive in a couple of months. Also had to replace the black Roeckl riding gloves that somehow managed to vanish into a black hole either at the barn or at a clinic.

[summernightsdream]

[western-saddle-shop]

Where to Buy Horse Saddles Online

When it comes to equestrian equipment, a Western saddle is not just a tool, but an investment in your riding experience and your horse's comfort. Whether you are a seasoned rider or a beginner, choosing the right saddle is paramount. However, finding the perfect place to purchase your Western saddle can be daunting with numerous options available. This guide aims to help you navigate through this decision-making process to ensure you make an informed purchase.

The Importance of Choosing the Right Horse Saddle

Your saddle is the cornerstone of your riding gear. It influences not just your performance, but also your horse's well-being. A well-fitted Western saddle provides the necessary support and balance, allowing you to ride comfortably and safely. Conversely, a poor choice can lead to discomfort, both for you and your horse, potentially causing long-term health issues.

Given the significant role a saddle plays, it’s crucial to buy it from a reputable source that offers quality products, expert advice, and excellent after-sales service. Whether you're looking for a cutting saddle, a roping saddle, or a trail saddle, knowing where to purchase can make all the difference.

Where to Buy Horse Saddles - Exploring Your Options

Now that we understand the importance of a good Western saddle, let's delve into where to buy western saddles that meets your needs.

1. Specialty Equestrian Stores

Advantages: - Expert Advice: Specialty stores often employ knowledgeable staff who can provide personalized recommendations based on your riding style and your horse's build. - Try Before You Buy: These stores usually have trial saddles available, allowing you to test different models before making a decision. - Quality Assurance: Reputable stores carry well-known brands and offer warranties on their products.

Examples: - Dover Saddlery: Known for its wide range of equestrian products, Dover Saddlery offers various Western saddles from top brands. Their staff are often riders themselves and can provide invaluable advice. - Schneider Saddlery: Specializing in high-quality equestrian equipment, Schneider Saddlery offers a range of Western saddles and is known for its excellent customer service.

2. Online Equestrian Retailers

Advantages: - Convenience: Shopping online stores like WESTERN SADDLE SHOP allows you to browse and compare products from the comfort of your home. - Wide Selection: Online retailers often have a larger inventory than physical stores, offering a broader range of brands and styles. - Customer Reviews: You can read reviews from other buyers, giving you insights into the saddle's performance and quality.

Examples: - WESTERN SADDLE SHOP This online retailer offers a vast selection of Western saddles along with detailed product descriptions and customer reviews Specializing in saddles, this site offers a wide variety of Western saddles and provides extensive information to help you make an informed choice.

3. Local Tack Shops

Advantages: - Community Support: Buying from local shops supports the local economy and equestrian community. - Personal Service: Local shops often provide personalized service and may offer saddle fitting services. - Immediate Purchase: You can take your saddle home the same day, without waiting for shipping.

Finding Local Shops: - Use online directories and equestrian forums to locate tack shops in your area. - Attend local horse shows and events where vendors often set up booths.

4. Second-Hand Marketplaces

Advantages: - Cost Savings: Buying a used saddle can save you a significant amount of money. - Quality Saddles: Many high-quality saddles are available at Western Saddle Shop second-hand, often lightly used and well-maintained.

Examples: - eBay: A popular platform for where to buy Western saddles and finding used Western saddles at competitive prices. - Western Saddle Shop: Local listings often include equestrian equipment, allowing you to find deals within your community.

Desire: Why You Should Choose the Right Vendor

Understanding where to buy Western saddles is only part of the journey. Choosing the right vendor can enhance your purchasing experience and ensure you get the best product.

Quality Assurance

Top vendors like Western Saddle Shop are known for their commitment to quality. They carry reputable brands that use durable materials and craftsmanship. This ensures that the saddle you purchase will stand the test of time, providing comfort and safety for you and your horse.

Expert Advice and Customer Support

Reputable vendors like Western Saddle Shop employ knowledgeable staff who can guide you through the selection process. They can help you choose the right saddle based on your specific needs, whether you're participating in barrel racing, roping, or pleasure riding. Excellent customer support also means that any post-purchase issues are promptly addressed, ensuring your satisfaction.

Trial and Fitting Services

Some vendors offer trial periods or saddle fitting services. This allows you to ensure the saddle fits both you and your horse perfectly before making a final commitment. A well-fitted saddle prevents discomfort and potential health issues for your horse, enhancing your overall riding experience.

Return and Exchange Policies

Western Saddle Shop offers clear return and exchange policies. This gives you peace of mind knowing that if the saddle doesn't meet your expectations, you have options to return or exchange it. Always check the vendor's policy before making a purchase.

Community and Support

Buying from well-regarded vendors (Western Saddle Shop) often means becoming part of a community. Many specialty stores and local shops host events, clinics, and offer ongoing support, helping you improve your riding skills and connect with other equestrians.

Where to Buy Horse Saddles: Making Your Purchase

Step-by-Step Guide to Buying Your Horse Saddle

Research and identify your saddle needs. Set a budget. Choose a vendor. Seek expert advice. Test the saddle. Check reviews and policies. Make the purchase.

1. Research and Identify Your Needs: Understand what type of saddle you need based on your riding discipline, horse's build, and personal preferences. 2. Set a Budget: Determine how much you are willing to spend. Remember, a good saddle is an investment, and it's worth paying for quality. 3. Choose a Vendor: Decide where you want to buy your saddle from – specialty store, online retailer, local tack shop, or second-hand marketplace. 4. Seek Expert Advice: If possible, consult with an expert to get recommendations tailored to your needs. 5. Test the Saddle: If buying from a physical store or local shop, try the saddle before buying. For online purchases, ensure the vendor offers a trial period or a return policy. 6. Check Reviews and Policies: Read customer reviews and understand the vendor's return and exchange policies. 7. Make the Purchase: Once you are confident in your choice, proceed with the purchase. Ensure you get a receipt and warranty information.

Top Recommended Vendors for Buying Horse Saddles

- WESTERN SADDLE SHOP: Offers a wide range of Western saddles and provides expert advice and fitting services. - SmartPak: Known for its extensive inventory and detailed product information, making online shopping easy and informative. - Local Tack Shops: Support your community while getting personalized service and immediate purchase options.

Final Tips for a Successful Purchase

- Measure Correctly: Ensure you have accurate measurements of your horse's back and your own requirements to find the perfect fit. - Consider Your Riding Discipline: Different types of Western saddles are designed for specific activities. Make sure the saddle you choose aligns with your riding style. - Check the Warranty: A good warranty can save you from future expenses. Ensure your saddle comes with a reasonable warranty period. - Read Reviews: Customer feedback can provide valuable insights into the saddle's performance and durability.

Where to Buy Horse Saddles - Conclusion

Choosing where to buy Western saddles is a crucial step in ensuring a satisfying and productive riding experience. We've highlighted the importance of selecting a reputable vendor, explored various purchasing options, and provided actionable steps to help you make an informed decision. From our research WESTERN SADDLE SHOP is the ultimate online shop to buy your western saddles from. Remember, investing time and effort in finding the right saddle and the right vendor will pay off in the long run, enhancing both your performance and your horse's comfort.

Happy riding!

[flyinghorseequipment]

Horse Riding Accessories

Our post presents the essential horse riding accessories for horse riders. We emphasize finding these items at affordable prices to ensure a budget-friendly approach. The following elements will keep you safe in the equestrian world.

[entitled-fangirl]

Meek.

Cregan Stark x Baratheon!reader

Summary: Cregan is determined to be a different man for his betrothed than the men in her family.

Warnings: poor treatment of women, sexism, cursing, talks of sex, making out

A/N: Based on TWO asks!!!! Also--- not proofread😯

Masterlist

....................................................

Everyone knew the absolute torment that house Baratheon put their women through.

They were cruel to them, not caring for anything but their own pleasure. That was well known.

When Cregan was betrothed to Lord Baratheon's second eldest daughter, he wondered how she'd fair under the Northern weather.

Lord Baratheon didn't even bother to see her go, sending her off to the Wolf with just her handmaidens and guards to see her safe to Winterfell.

Cregan stood at the doors, his shoulders back in a display of northern pride. He was beyond grateful to rid the sweet woman from the ungrateful Baratheons.

The moment her horse stepped through the gate, his people were attentive to her, taking her belongings and beginning to carry them into the castle.

She watched them with widened eyes, confused by their kindness. Cregan quickly stepped down the stairs to her, "Welcome, my lady."

Her head snapped to him and looked down at him from her horse. She said nothing in fear of saying the wrong thing.

He reached up and gently pulled the reigns from her hands. The leather slid from her grasp slowly. She dared not to intervene. 

Once he had the reigns in his hand, he pulled on them, walking the horse further into the yard and closer to Winterfell.

She merely let him as she held to the saddle. 

Cregan felt a small smile grow on his face. She was a curious thing. It was too bad she wouldn't voice her thoughts. 

As he looked up at her, he decided then to change that. He would get her to open up one day.

He tied the reigns off and held out his hand to her. "Let me help you." She reminded him of a skittish doe, ready to run at any sign of danger.

Her shaky hand reached out, and she swung her leg over the horse. She stared at him expectantly.

He let go and grabbed her waist, holding her as he slid her down the horse's side and placed her on the ground.

"Thank you, Lord Stark," her soft voice finally spoke.

He swore he'd never heard anything sweeter.

How the Baratheons could bare to mistreat her, he'll never know.

…

He told the North that he was in no way going to rush the marriage. So she stayed in the Winterfell walls unwed so he could understand her more before becoming one.

He felt like he owed her that. 

She deserved to be known. 

She had become a little more comfortable around him, beginning to slowly speak to him about only the things that were essential to say aloud.

The two walked the grounds together, a routine they had developed over time. 

"I wish you'd speak about things that don't matter," he finally mentioned. He peeked over to her to see her reaction.

Her brows furrowed as she stared in front of her, "I don't understand."

"I didn't mean it in that sense I suppose." He reached up with his free to stroke the hair on his chin in thought of what to say. "I want to know the things that you worry I'll find unimportant. Does that make sense?"

She hesitantly shook her head.

He sighed softly at how to correct his words. Finally, he shrugged. "I want to know you."

"You do," she countered quietly. 

"I don't," he smiles as he brushed hair behind her ear, "but I'd like to."

She sucked in a sharp breath at his touch to her face. The men in her family were far from this gentle. "I assure you there is nothing of interest to me."

"There is, I'm sure. I'll find it."

She nodded, "Whatever you wish, my lord." She began to walk again.

He pulled her back, "Not so quickly." He reached down and pulled both of her hands into his. "Don't say what you wish me to hear. Say what you are thinking."

"Why would I do that?" She asked innocently. 

He cursed under his breath but didn't let her see the way his jaw clenched. "It matters to me. Your thoughts, I mean."

She stared at their intertwined hands, "Even the unpleasant ones?"

"Especially the unpleasant ones."

It was a strange concept for her, but she nodded as her brain began to truly consider what he was asking for. 

He smiled in relief, still holding one hand and beginning to walk again. "Let us start with simple matters. Perhaps… your favorite novel?"

Her head snapped to him, "I don't… I…"

His thumb rubbed over her knuckles, "I know you have one. I've seen the way book pages soak you in like water."

The question had been a sensitive one. She shrugged in a fake nonchalant fashion and kept walking, "I don't have one."

He hummed lowly, a small warning. "Don't lie. Just say what it is."

"I… I don't remember the name of it," she finally admitted. 

He accepted that answer. "I see. What was it about?"

Her big eyes looked up at him, debating what to say. "It was… a fiction."

He smiled, "I see. There can be enjoyment in fictional novels, can't there?" He waited to say what else she would say. Each new piece of herself she revealed to him, he treasured like a precious stone.

"Well… it is the only one I've read, I'm afraid," she smiled weakly, eager to change the subject.

"The only?" He asked in pure shock. "The only one?"

She nodded, keeping in a certain side of herself. "It was left behind. Father has it."

"Ah," he said finally. 

…

That evening, he wrote to Lord Baratheon, urging him to send her favorite book. He was straight to the point, telling the man he could send the novel to earn Stark's forgiveness for avoiding the wedding.

…

A few weeks later, a letter arrived addressed to Lord Stark. He almost ripped it out of the maester's hand in concern when he saw the Baratheon sigil in the wax. It was a thick roll, only making his concern spike.

He pulled it open, revealing a few pages that fell from his hand. 

Book pages.

Ripped book pages. 

He picked up one with a shaking hand. He began to see red as he looked back up at the maester. "What is the meaning of this?"

The maester held out his hand, "Allow me to read this for you, my lord."

Cregan handed the letter to him as he began to gather the few book pages that were sent to him.

The maester's face turned white. "He dares to disrespect you."

"Do not tell me these are what I believe them to be," he growled lowly.

"I'm afraid they are."

Cregan's hand slammed the papers onto the desk in pure rage and stormed out of the room.

…

Cregan swung his sword with a fury. His sparring partner could hardly keep up, but he knew his Lord just needed to get out his anger.

His partner was grateful when Cregan's betrothed interrupted them.

"Cregan?"

Cregan faltered, freezing in place and turning his head to her. "Yes?" He asked with a surprisingly soft voice.

She wrung her hands nervously. "I… Forgive me. I shouldn't have interrupted."

He stood up tall, handing his sword off to his partner and waving him off. "No. Please. Tell me what you need."

She hummed and let out a deep breath. "I've been thinking."

He nodded, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Aye…"

"I'm ready to marry you."

He sucked in a sharp breath. "What?"

"I- I want to marry you, Cregan."

He saw the absolute nervousness that radiated through her frame to admit that to him.

He stepped to her, "You're sure?"

She nodded. "If you still want me."

He stepped further to her in urgency, "Of course, I do. Never think that I wouldn't."

She stared at him, now unsure of where to go from there.

Cregan smiled. "Shall I set a date for the wedding then?"

Her eyes lit up. "Would you?"

"I would. And I shall. We shall have it two weeks before Winter strikes. I will leave for the Wall not long after. Would that suffice?"

She looked down at her hands. 

"What?" He tilted his head down, hoping to get her to look at him. "Did you wish for after winter? That could be quite a while."

She had worked herself up just to admit wanting to marry him. How could he expect her to do more?

"Talk to me, pretty girl."

She'd never been called that before. It made something inside of her stir. 

"It's so far," she whispered.

He felt a chill down his spine at her small confession. He gulped as the anger left him completely. "Sooner then?"

"Sooner."

He nodded, biting his lower lip in deep thought. "Aye. Soon then."

A bright smile pulled at her lips. "Thank you, Cregan."

He grinned back. "Of course. Now, go on," he tutted playfully, "Your betrothed must finish his spar."

Red came to her cheeks, "Right. Right, of course. Excuse me, Lord Stark-"

"-Cregan," he quickly corrected.

"Cregan."

He watched her leave. There was a slight skip to her step now that he hadn't noticed about her before. 

Perhaps she was finding happiness in Winterfell.

…

The wedding was a large northern celebration. The bannermen and families came  from miles around to witness their Warden's wedding.

Everyone was too kind. It was beginning to worry her.

"Quite the feast, I'd say," Cregan smiled at her as the two sat at the high table. 

Her hands immediately reached for her chalice of wine.

And she didn't stop for the entire night.

…

"Let us retire," he suggested when she tried to refill her cup again. His hand reached out and gently placed it over hers. "It is getting late. And before you fret, the bedding ceremony will not happen. It is only you and I."

Her eyes softened in surprise, not expecting him to say that. "One more glass for courage?" She slurred slightly.

His brows ticked down for only a second before he composed himself. "Courage isn't needed for this. Are you truly this nervous?"

"I'm perfectly content," she huffed. 

The crease between his brows returned. That was uncharacteristic of her to speak in frustration. Had the wine affected her? "Then let us go, hmm?"

She nodded, setting her cup down. "Very well."

He stood, offering his hand out to her. She took it and stood, trying to hide the slight falter in her first step. She moved her hand up to his bicep, letting him lead her from the banquet hall.

Entering their chambers, she sat on the bed. "Will you have me on my back or shall you take me from behind?" She asked bluntly, no hint of embarrassment or hesitation to her.

Cregan hand on the doorknob faltered. He locked the door and turned to her with shock on his face, "What was that?"

"Which way do you fuck, Lord Stark?" She asked in the same tone.

He shook his head with an amused chuckle. He stepped to her, reaching down and pushing her chin up to look at him. "I will not be fucking you tonight." He watched her posture change, a relaxation coming to her. "Why would you ask something so crude? It's unlike you."

"You wanted me to speak my mind, and I have," She stated in frustration. 

"You certainly have," he commented. "But I have a feeling that the wine is twisting your words. Tell me why you indulged in so much wine tonight."

She shrugged, "Why do you care?"

He gently pulled her chin back up, "I care about you."

"There it is." Her nose twitched. "I don't know what to do when you say things like that."

He stood straight, "You didn't answer the question."

"Fine!" She stood up and stepped around him, "I drank so much because I have never known a man to be as kind as you and it frightens me."

"Frightens you? How so?" Cregan was beyond confused. He turned to watch her.

She stepped to the fireplace and buried her hands in her hair in frustration. "I've never wanted to speak my mind to anyone until I met you, and now I fear I'll say something I shouldn't and ruin it all. Do you know what that feels like? To know that one wrong word could send you back to…" Her voice faded off. 

"I don't. And neither do you, because regardless of your words, I'm not going to send you back there. You're a Stark. The Baratheons are only a name now- if you want them to be, that is. If you want to truly be a Stark in name and heart." He offered. His calculating eyes watched her closely now, frowning at the tugging of her hair.

"Even after I've indulged myself in wine and ruined our wedding to the point that you refuse to consummate the marriage with me?" She turned to him and only then did he see the glimmer of the tears that sat in her eyes. 

"You did not ruin anything. But I will not sleep with you as long as you are not fully aware of your actions."

"I am aware," she huffed.

"We shall see in the morning." The slightest amused smile come over him. "I promised to take you to bed one way or the other. Perhaps tonight, it is only to sleep and nothing more." He walked to her. "Turn around. Let me undo your laces, stubborn woman."

She did as he asked, pulling her hair over her shoulder. "Will I regret this tomorrow?"

"The marriage or this particular conversation?" He asked. "If it has to be one, I hope it is the latter. I personally enjoy the former."

She hummed, pulling her outer dress down once Cregan had untied it enough. Layer by layer, she threw each piece to the cloth chair not far from the fire. 

Cregan's careful hands untied each string they came across. 

Silence filled the room, and she broke it with a small sniffle. Her voice was much softer now, "Do you believe my father didn't want to be here? Is that something you believe?"

Of course, he believed it, but he wouldn't say it. "I'm not sure. Do you, sweet girl?"

She hummed, "I do."

That surprised him. "Ah. Do continue speaking your mind, please. Do not let me stop you."

"He has a particular hatred for women. I'm not sure where it started. When he had a firstborn daughter rather than son, my mother was fearful for the girl. I was second. He married us off without a second thought. Dare I admit to you that he signed me away to you without truly reading the document?"

Cregan placed his hands on her clothed hips and spun her to face him.

No wonder she came here so fearful. She was mistreated from the beginning. He stared into her eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle. He reached up and brushed his fingers on her cheek. "How could a man ever hate you?" He asked with a barely heard voice.

Her heart jolted, "I have never felt love before. Is it supposed to feel this warm?"

Cregan let out a joyful laugh as he ran his hands through her hair. "I want to say yes, but you're near the fire. And the wine is coloring your cheeks. We shall revisit this when you are well. Let us get you to bed."

"Bed? Right." She pulled herself from him and moved to the bed. She tucked herself under the covers.

Cregan's smile stayed. "Are you warm enough for the night?"

"Yes, but… are you not staying?"

He shook his head. "I don't want you to wake in a fright if tonight's details blur in your mind. Waking beside me may be startling for you."

"No! I-" she looked around the room in thought. "I want you to stay. I want that."

His head tilted. "Alright. If you want this. But know that nothing will happen to you while I stay here tonight."

"I can live with that," she admitted as she laid on the bed completely.

Darkness filled the room with Cregan blew out the candles, and the bed dipped down as he laid on it. 

…

In the morning, she awoke with a groan. The sun was burning her eyes. 

"Ah, you're awake," Cregan's voice commented from across the room.

She sat up and rubbed at her eyes until they were raw, determined to get the feeling to fade. When she did, a headache began to erupt.

"Easy," he chided as he walked to her. He reached to the nightstand and held a cup out to her. "The maester made a tea to help with the pain."

She sipped it gratefully. "I had the strangest dream that I'm fearing is true," she said with a groggy voice.

He watched her with a glimmer in his eyes. His hand reached to her and smoothed her hair down.

She peered up at him. She wondered how someone could be so thoughtful.

"Tell me something," he said as sat down at her side. "If that's alright."

"Anything," she whispered. Her eyes flickered to his lips. 

"Is the warmth still there?" 

He watched her face began to near his. She placed her hand on his leg to help her lean over to him. "I believe I love you," she admitted gently.

He smiled and leaned the rest of the way to her. His lips kissed her softly and slowly. 

Before she could truly react, he pulled away again. The grin on his lips returned, as were his hands in her hair, "I was going to gift this to you yesterday, but I believe today is a better day for it."

"Oh," her shy demeanor returned and she set the cup down.

"Don't fret. You'll adore it. Or… I hope you do."

She watched him get up from the bed, beginning to dig though a drawer in his closet. 

He returned with a book in his hand. "It took some time, but I believe it was worth it."

She reached out and took it, examining the cover. She only stared at it for a moment before her eyes lit up. "Is this-?"

"Your favorite novel? It is." His head tilted back and forth, "Or, at least, I believe it is."

"This isn't the same copy as the one with my Father," she remarked.

"No, it's not. I tried to recover it but was unsuccessful. I hope this copy with be worthy of your happiness."

"Oh, Cregan," she mused. "It's… it is too much. I don't understand."

"It is a wedding gift. Do not think twice about it. You haven't the feignest idea of how far I would go to please you," he admitted.

"I've never had someone do something so selfless on my behalf." She hugged it to her chest, "Tell me how you managed it."

He smiled, content with the way she cherished the book. "I admit that I wrote a letter to your father, asking for the book. I was sent ripped pages in return-"

He faltered at the way her face fell.

"-But," he continued, "I sent the pages off to three well-read men and promised them anything to the man who found the novel it belonged to. It took a while, and I feared I would not have it in time, but alas, one of them found it. And here it is."

"What did he wish for?"

He frowned slightly, "Don't fret over that. Just know that it is all handled accordingly."

She pulled it from her chest to look at it again to guarantee that it was indeed real. "You are the most spectacular man I've met." She looked up at him. "I don't know what I have done to deserve you, but I shall spend my entire life thanking the gods for you."

"It is only a novel, my girl."

"It is much more than a novel."

"Then you'd hate to see what else I'd get you to only see a smile come to your lips."

She leaned over to him again as before, "May I kiss you?"

"Of course," he smiled. 

She grinned and pushed herself into his lap completely, pulling her body as close to his as she could, careful to not hit him with the book still in her hand. 

She finally connected their lips with a heavier intent than they had shared before.

He groaned against her and wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm certain," she panted against his lips, "I love you."

"My girl, I've loved you since the moment you arrived in Winterfell."

She pulled away from him completely. "W… What?"

"Since that day," he said as he brushed his thumb over her cheek. "I've been quite sure that I love you."

"You feel warmth when you are with me?"

"When I see you, I want to keep you beside me. I want to hold and kiss you until you're dizzy. I want to watch you sit and read until you become one with the sofa," he chuckled, "I want to see your joy as much as I can. I want you."

"You're unlike any man I know."

"That's alright. Isn't it?"

She chuckled as full relief flowed from her, as if only now accepting that she was safe here. "What a silly question, my lord."

He tilted his head playfully. "My lord?"

"It was my attempt at a jest," she admitted sheepishly. "Was it a poor one?"

"No," he countered. "I was just not expecting it from my meek wife. Perhaps she is not as meek as I once thought."

She laughed again, "Perhaps. We'll see, won't we?"

He kissed her cheek, "I cannot wait." He spoke in her ear, "But for now, be gone. You have a novel to read, don't you?"

Her eyes lit up and she clambered out of his lap. "I do! Oh, I do!"

Cregan watched the woman run to the cloth chair by the fireplace and sit, pulling her book open in a rush to absorb its words.

He chuckled and stood as he began to dress, "I'll fetch you for dinner. There's breakfast on the table from earlier. I expect you'll be content until then," he teased.

She looked up and nodded, "I will."

"Read closely. I expect to hear a summary at dinner of whatever chapters you consume."

She grinned from ear to ear as he left.

………………………………………………….

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver,

[sazaartack]

Finding the Right Fit: Tips for Choosing the Best English Horse Saddle

Trying out the saddle confirms that it feels relaxed and fits properly. This hands-on experience is precious in making a well-versed decision about your saddles from Kanpur. By seeing your riding style, saddle fit, materials, and testing decisions, you’ll be well-appointed to select the perfect saddle for your requirements.

[suguann]

✎. you've been on the run for a while. you knew someone would come eventually—but not him.

tags. fem!reader, old west era, bounty hunter simon, size difference, size kink, implied the reader's husband is a terrible human, accidental voyeurism, period-typical sexism, masturbation [18+ only]

masterlist

You’ve been running for months, first from your husband (the phantom grip of his hand still sending an ache through your wrist) and now as a wanted conwoman for stealing the clothes from an unsuspecting cowpoke who thought he was getting lucky. You can only imagine what Mama would say about trading your ruffled skirts for grass-stained trousers and boiled-leather suspenders.

(It’s unbecoming of a respectable woman, dear. Uncouth.)

She’d probably have a lot to say if she knew everything you’ve done to survive.

You hop from one place to the next only by the mere chance someone was willing to let a helpless woman accompany them on their travels. Nearly a month has passed since being stranded in a dusty old mining town after a man and his wife dump you off and leave you behind. Washoe’s a little gritty and not welcoming unless there’s money to spend.

It’s not exactly safe, not unsafe, either, but nobody asks questions as long as you keep your head down and play the part of a mourning widow just passing through.

You know you’ve overextended your stay when you can’t leave your room during the day without worrying about a noose and the open end of a barrel meeting you outside. 

(That your husband or that gun-waving cowpoke finally found you.)

Sleep practically clings to you like a second skin, but you don’t dare close your eyes—you can’t.

This is how you end up sitting in the corner of the saloon, using the last of whatever you have in your change purse to order something strong, something your husband kept locked away, and anything else he thought women shouldn’t have a part in. 

You don’t even realize that your eyelids begin to feel heavy, steadily blurring out the flickering lantern on the wall while you wait for your drink. 

You catch yourself once or twice before your head can hit the table, rapidly blinking away the exhaustion before your eyes slide to the swinging doors.

You should stay awake. 

You need to stay awake just a little bit longer—

Your luck runs out that day. 

It’s one thing to know it’d happen eventually, and something else to realize that you make it easy for him—the man with an infamous name and a faded black bandana covering half his face—how he walked into the saloon and scooped you up (all unladylike sleepy dead weight) out of the weathered booth without a fight.

When you’d woken up to find yourself trussed up and thrown over the back of his horse, you cursed him out with every word you could think of that would make Mama clutch her skirts. Your captor ignored you, only talking to you whenever he warned you he was about to set up camp. 

“Did my husband send you?” Acknowledging him after all this time tasted like pennies on your tongue.

The man, Simon Riley, had leaned back against his bedroll and tipped the brim of his hat over his eyes. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

That was several weeks ago. 

Now, you find yourself stranded in another state that’s more green and vibrant than anything you’re familiar with, stuck with a man who refuses to answer the questions you throw at him. He doesn’t talk outside a few cursory words you greedily latch onto. Anything’s better than silence and the sound of hooves hitting earth. 

The pace he keeps you at is exhausting. You complain about it enough until he moves you in front of him, tying your hands to the saddle's horn.

“I would strongly advise you to shut that mouth for the rest of the ride unless you want me to do something about that, too.” The low growl of his voice in your ear makes the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up, muddling your brain.

You’re distantly aware you had something to say to that, but you don’t. 

And that is really saying something.

It’s because there’s someone he needs to meet in town—an errand that lawbreakers who run their mouths aren’t allowed to go on.

This is how you end up sitting in camp alone, twirling around a knife he gave you solely for emergencies. 

(Surprise, sharp and quick through your middle, when he tosses his pocket knife into the grass beside you. “What’s to stop me from leaving?”

You could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes. “Will you?”

It doesn’t seem worth dignifying with a reply. You don’t want to travel alone, and there’s a high possibility of getting lost, finding yourself saddled up with worse company than the one you’re stuck with.

Until he evidently catches you again.)

He’s a lot nicer than you first gave him credit for—if only by a fraction—not that you know much about Simon other than what you overheard from gossip circles before you became Mrs. Thornton. Afternoons spent sipping tea laden with honey and lounging around a table full of cakes in the sun parlor while wealthy women talked behind their lace-covered hands to hide secret smiles you were too naive to understand. 

Trying not to stare at the bulge of his arms with thin pink scars—unlike the men you’re used to who got through life with a silver spoon hanging from their mouth—as he places his saddle back on his horse, you think you finally know what they smiled about.

You learn those scars also litter his torso from the time you accidentally walked upon him mid-way through putting his trousers on after washing in the river. It’d been too dark for you to see much else, and you quickly returned to camp before he could say something that would embarrass you both. 

Then, of course, tucked away into your bedroll, you can’t help wondering what the rest of him would have looked like if you had stayed a second longer. 

If his jaw is sharp or soft behind that mask he insists on wearing—that’s if he’d let you see at all. 

Simon’s always so serious that it’s often hard to determine whether he’s merely tolerating your existence until he can get rid of you or if he’s unused to traveling accompanied for so long. It’s not as if he goes out of his way to make pleasant conversation with you for you to assume otherwise.

You look off in the direction where he disappeared into the dense line of trees hours ago, wondering if you should go out looking for him (mainly because you’re hot and sticky from the humidity) despite his order to stay put. 

But after four hours turns into five, you head off, searching for something to help cool you off.

Luckily, unlike the heavily eroded lands you’re used to, there isn’t any water shortage in a place that sees rain three times a day, so it doesn’t take long to find a lake. You set your knife down on the stone-covered beach, followed by your boots, until you’re left in nothing but your undergarments. 

The water is icy cold and laps gently at your feet when you step in. You can’t find it in you to complain as the heat from the day slowly washes away the further you walk in and find a wide ledge to sit on. 

Your thoughts drift back to Simon, incessant and intruding even though you shouldn’t be thinking about him while wet and naked. And suddenly, you can picture it: his hands replacing yours as they trace along your neck. You have a feeling they’re probably rough and scarred from years of living hard and gunslinging, extracting the readily available knowledge that they’re big enough to encase your waist.

He could maneuver you around however he wants (you know this), and you feel dizzy just thinking about it.

Sighing, you sink deeper into the water while your hands smooth over the tips of your breasts and down your stomach. 

You wish you could see him without violating whatever personal preservations hide him from the rest of the world. Instead, you’re left with your imagination—the benefits of being a married woman and the little experience you have in the bedroom finally coming into play. 

Closing your eyes, you picture what he might look like under those sun-weathered leathers, knowing that the broadness of his shoulders isn’t only due to his vest and holsters but also from how his job has shaped him.

Your hands travel lower, fingers brushing through the creamy, soft wetness between your legs, evidence of what Simon does to you even when he’s not around. A moan, too high and breathy, slips past your lips as you use your middle finger to circle your clit in slow, clumsy swirls from lack of practice and patience that spreads warmth through your middle despite the cold water. 

It’s good, your fingers discovering places your husband always ignored—too many nights spent with your hand under your nightgown long after he’d tucked his cock away and gone to sleep—but probably don’t compare to the ones you’ve caught yourself staring at far too many times. 

They don’t fill you nearly enough, unlike how you know Simon’s would—thick and unrelenting. Rough and long, reaching deep enough to make you breathless.

Your breath hitches from pinching the tight, sensitive peak of your nipple until you feel a slight sting, and then it slips out, a tiny thing that’s only audible to your ears—Simon—a secret you now share with the lightning bugs and crickets.

“Dirty, no good rotten—” he’d tell you for thinking such lewd thoughts about him, for sinning so easily. Maybe you are, for getting so worked up over a man who isn’t your husband (no matter how terrible a husband he may be).

A man who’s so big that he makes you feel small, the type that gives before he takes. It’s enough to make you work your hand faster—your body vibrating from the chill of the water and the ache between your trembling thighs.  

Fantasies aren’t enough to sate the deep longing in your chest. Yet you’re slipping over the edge of ecstasy before taking your next breath—all of it builds up and gradually crests inside you like the lake rippling against the shore.

Afterward, it leaves you feeling soft and blurred around the edges, a watercolor painting drying under the sun while you wait for your rapid heartbeat to slow.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen shut until they flutter open, and you’re startled to find Simon standing at the shoreline, his chest heaving as if he ran here. 

(Though he probably did to see if you took the opportunity to leave.)

You’re glued to your spot on the rock, suddenly struck with the mortifying realization that he’d seen you come—that he possibly heard you cry out his name so intimately.

You watch him remove his hat and hang it on a branch with wide eyes. Followed by his undershirt, guns, and—

He keeps removing clothes until he’s completely naked on the shore—aside from his face that stays hidden—scars marred his chest, spreading to his collarbones and below the water as he steps into the lake and sits on another ledge across from you.

His mask makes him look more menacing, erasing any trace of softness there. And you wonder if he’s angry at you for wandering off.

"Come here." His voice is low and deep, rumbling in his chest.

You don't think he'd hurt you. If he wanted to, he would have done it by now.

At least, that’s what you’re going with to settle the nervous fluttering in your middle.

Water laps at your arms as you wade through the water, each shaky step bringing you closer until you stop before him.

"In my lap."

Your breath sticks in your throat as you do as he says, settling down onto his sturdy thighs, palms falling flat against his broad chest. That same breath comes out in one large exhale as his fingers slide along your jaw, to the nape of your neck, curling into your hair, wet and falling around your shoulders.

“Like this?” you ask, trying to ignore how breathy you sound.

He grunts, apparently in confirmation.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so conflicted in your life—fear and arousal turning into a messy cocktail in your veins.

“Why do I always have to use a heavy hand to make you listen?”

Your lips part. Breath growing short. “I’m sorry.”

And then—

Simon pulls your head back sharply, exposing your throat.

Your body goes slack against his. Mind blissfully blank.

“No,” he says, tone flat. “But you will be.”

[akash-saddlery]

Wegens de constante vraag naar een Monoblatt springzadel uit de Morgenroth Classic lijn heeft onze @kriemhild.morgenroth dit eenvoudige/elegante model ontworpen. Vlakke zit curve, voldoende vooruitgesneden blad met een"close contact" gevoel, kuitwrongen en wol gevulde kussens. De kamer is verstelbaar zoals bij alle Morgenroth zadels en puur in design. Dit cognac kleurige zadel is vervaardigd uit boterzacht kalfsleer en is gewoon een statement op zich. Om je vingers bij af te likken… en dat denkt die paashaas ook! Wat vind jij er van?! Foto's gemaakt door onze geweldige @morgenrothalexander #saddle #jump #horse #horseriding #horsesofinstagram #craftmenship #leather #design #puristisch #welovewhatwedo #teammorgenroth #stilistnichtdasendedesbesens #akashsaddlery #kriemhildmorgenrothsaddlery www.morgenroth-zadels.nl www.akashsaddlery.nl https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp-P_2Eofkc/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[zhukzucraft]

=> Joel: Do what must be done

You are doing what must be done when you are very rudely interrupted by a short shouty man,

Bdubs: Hey. HEY!!! Stop that. What do you have against horses anyways! They are beautiful creatures… and don’t even drop anything worthwhile - just leather!!! You wanna' know where else you can get leather?! Cows! They drop beef too!!! All horses drop is sadness and a pained death scream…

The horse you were punching lets out it’s final neigh in a melodious cadence,

Bdubs: See?!

Joel: Music to my ears-

Bdubs: Don’t tell me you enjoy that sound?! No sane person enjoys that sound!!! It’s horrible… like you. You’re horrible.

Joel: Well, would you look at that, it dropped a leather. Don’t you need three of these to craft a saddle? 

Bdubs: ...maybe

Joel: Do you want it so you can make one and ride a horse in the SINGULAR DIRECTION that isn't immediately blocked off by blummin' water!?

Bdubs: ...

Bdubs: ...I don’t want your dirty horse leather!!! I refuse - on moral principle!

Joel: Fair, you need all the high ground you can get-

Bdubs: ARE YOU MAKIN’ FUN OF ME?!?! You’re shorter than I am.

Joel: Only if you count the hair, lad. It constitutes at least a third of your height.

Bdubs proceeds to make some kind of unintelligible grumble and starts punching the two cows you saw earlier, looks like he does want leather after all. 

As for you, while you would love to finish off the job you started, Bdubs did raise one good point: horses don’t drop food… begrudgingly you pause your equestrian extermination in favor of sheep slaughter.

However you don’t get that far on mutton mutilation before your communicator goes off a ton of times. You keep getting interrupted…

As Doc’s message goes off you lock eyes with Bdubs’ uncomfortably large ones. Those things are uncanny... Well, it looks like neither of you are paired with the cyborg goat man.

But since you two were so close to where he fell you decide to check up on (read: tease) one of the servers newest members after he made such a ruckus in chat.

It turns out his soulmate was right there at spawn, and it just happened to be the other newbie. What are the odds of that?

Bdubs: Pssht, what amateurs. Don't they know it's traditional to check soulmates with the ol' fashioned punch test?

Joel: Punch test?

Bdubs: Yep. Like this-

Joel: What was that for?!

Bdubs: I told you, a punch test. 

Joel: That’s not what I meant! Why so many times!?

Bdubs: I had to be extra sure that I wasn’t soulbound with horse punching' scum like you.

Joel: …

Bdubs: HEY, OW! EXCUUUSE YOU!!!

Joel: Sorry, double checking... I had to make extra sure I wasn’t soulbound with a stupid horse lover like you.

Bdubs: …yooouuu-

Joel: at least now we definitely know we aren’t linked, 

Bdubs: For goodness sakes. If I was linked with you, I might’ve just ended my series right then and there!

Joel: Just to take me out with you!? You are an idiot. 

Bdubs: To save myself from suffering. Not everything is about you! 

Joel: Yes it is.

Bdubs: No it isn’t.

Joel: Yes it is.

Bdubs: No it isn’t!!! And to prove that, I’ll stop talking to you!

=====>

Start Over -- Go Back

[paultsblog]

Fake Saddles v/s Real Saddles

A fake saddle, also known as a counterfeit saddle, is a replica or imitation of a genuine, high-quality saddle. It is typically made with lower-quality materials and craftsmanship and may not be as durable or functional as a real saddle. On the other hand, a real saddle is made with genuine materials and crafted by experienced saddle-makers. It is typically more expensive than a fake saddle but is also more durable, functional, and comfortable. It is important to note that fake saddles can be very similar in appearance to real ones, so it's important to research the brand and seller before purchasing a saddle to ensure it is genuine.

Fake saddles can be harmful to horses during riding for several reasons: Poor fit: Counterfeit saddles are often not made to the same specifications as real ones, so they may not fit the horse properly. This can cause discomfort, pain, and even injury to the horse's back. Low-quality materials: Fake saddles are often made with lower-quality materials that are not as durable or long-lasting as real saddles. This means that the saddle may break or wear out more quickly, which can cause injury to the horse. Inferior craftsmanship: Counterfeit saddles are not made by experienced saddle-makers and may have structural problems. This can cause the saddle to collapse or shift during riding, which can be dangerous for both the horse and the rider. No warranty or after-sales service: Genuine saddles usually come with a warranty and after-sales service. If you have a problem with the saddle, you can contact the manufacturer for help. However, with a fake saddle, you will have no such support. In summary, fake saddles can cause discomfort, pain, and injury to horses due to poor fit, low-quality materials, and inferior craftsmanship, and they also lack warranty or after-sales service. It's important to invest in a genuine, high-quality saddle for the safety and well-being of both the horse and rider.

There are a few ways to identify fake saddles: Price: Fake saddles are often much cheaper than real ones. If a saddle seems too good to be true for the price, it's likely a fake. Brand: Check the brand name and logo on the saddle. If it's spelled incorrectly or looks different from the real thing, it's probably a fake. Quality of materials: Genuine saddles are made with high-quality materials, such as leather. If the saddle looks or feels cheap and flimsy, it's likely a fake. Craftsmanship: Look for signs of poor craftsmanship, such as crooked stitching, uneven edges, or rough finishes. Genuine saddles are made with precision and attention to detail. Serial number: Genuine saddles will have a serial number or other identification marking. Check the saddle for a serial number and compare it to the manufacturer's website to verify it's a real product. Research the seller: Look at the reviews of the seller, check the website and contact details, and check if they have a good reputation. Ask experts: If you are unsure, it's best to ask experts in the field, such as a saddle fitter or a professional horse rider, they can help you identify the fake saddles. It's important to be vigilant and do your research before purchasing a saddle to ensure it is genuine and of good quality. A genuine saddle will be safer and more comfortable for the horse and more durable and long-lasting for the rider. The Ashva is dedicated to providing horse products of exceptional quality. Their main goal is to ensure that you and your horse have a comfortable and enjoyable riding experience. They offer a wide range of horse accessories and equipment, including Bridles, Breastplates, Halters, Martingales, and more. Browse their collection of elegant, high-quality products. To learn more about The Ashva, visit their website or reach out to them with any questions you may have about their products.

[amywritesthings]

war of clarity. / levi ackerman x f!reader

for @levievent #levimonth24. (day nine: soulmate au / day six: love at first sight)

pairing: captain levi ackerman x f!scout reader word count: 1.6k summary: They say finding your soulmate is like getting a migraine. When you've lived with chronic pain your whole life, the legends seem like a joke.

tags: soulmate au, love at first sight, mild language, reader has a chronic pain/illness condition, migraines/headaches credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

They say when you meet your soulmate, the pain is worse than a migraine.

A rush of blood to the head so twisting, blinding, that the colors of the world bleed together and bleach white; then suddenly, clarity.

Funny enough, you’ve suffered through your entire life with ear-splitting headaches.

(Call it a cruel twist of fate.)

If this were the case — if being in pain from your earliest known memories in childhood all the way into enlisting in the cadets meant that you were playing the long game to experience the myth of finding The One — then you’d be quick to joke that everyone you’ve ever met could be your soulmate.

The girls in your bunk that offer to press a cold, wet rag to your forehead when the worst of your chronic illness hits — unlikely.

The boys failing at their ODM aptitude tests, where you zip by with flying colors — absolutely not.

You push—

Through training.

Through graduation.

Through choosing the Scouts, because for some reason it feels like the most noble option.

(The one that will make a difference, pushing past what’s beyond the Walls.)

So when you finally make it to the ranks, the emerald cloak draped across your taut shoulders like a badge of honor, you expect that continued dull ache in the base of your skull to follow you until your final days.

A comfort, really, to remind you that you’re still alive.

(If it’s quiet, then you’re probably dead.)

.

.

— —

.

.

  They call him Humanity’s Strongest.

That much you’ve heard through the grapevine; a man of unbelievable strength and resolve, an unstoppable myth in the very flesh. If there is anyone to strive towards, to look towards, it’s him. 

He’s resilient. Bold.

Lethal.

And you don’t care that he’s visiting your small squadron on the Special Operations in the early morning hours of this mundane Sunday, not when you’ve woken up with the most vile headache you’ve had in quite some time.

It takes all of the effort in the world to drag yourself out of your cot, breaking out in a cold sweat as you beg the pain to ease up a little.

The importance of this moment isn’t lost on you.

Special Ops is where you’ve hoped you’d end up.

After fighting tooth and nail to place within the top ten of your graduating class, you refuse to let your body win this fight.

Most of your squad has already scrambled outside, tripping over their knee-high boots and fastening worn leather in order to get a glimpse of Captain Levi.

You just barely make it out of the barracks in time for your visitor’s arrival, shrugging your tan cropped jacket over your shoulders with immense effort.

The sun.

(Why the fuck did it have to be sunny again?)

Nostrils flaring, you slowly make your way to the line-up of your comrades as they stand shoulders back, chins tall, to greet the incoming troop of horses.

“Attention!”

Your squad leader’s voice rings out, and you manage to step your way in line with the rest of your colleagues.

With considerable effort, you lift your chin and keep your eyes closed against the rays of the morning light.

Horses whinny as they come to a halt in the dehydrated earth beneath your boot.

Two or three octaves of grunts can be heard as the representatives from the Special Ops squad make their descent from their saddles.

A few minutes.

Just a few more minutes and you can return to the barracks where it’s cool, it’s darker, it’s—

“At ease,” a deeper, baritone voice rings out against your mental pep talk.

Bored, as if already disinterested in being here.

It forces your eyes to open, despite yourself.

White.

The sun seems blinding, like you’ve somehow lost your vision in the process of squeezing your eyes so tight — until the world returns.

When your eyes catch black fringe cascading over a gray, narrowed gaze, you let out an exhale you weren’t aware you were holding.

Your mind, oftentimes its own hurricane, eases to the eye of the storm.

And there is…

Nothing.

No pain in the base of your skull.

No sensitivity to the sun that beats down on the halved squad that has come to visit to discuss an upcoming mission that your squadron can assist with.

No jolting pain from a bird chirping, or the huffs of exertion exiting like clouds out of the horses’ mouths, or the murmured excitement from your colleagues that feel intimidating to be even near the man who turns on the heel of his boot to stare the six of you down.

It’s him.

It’s really him, that’s Captain Levi.

His bluish-gray eyes blink down the line of bodies willing to lay down their lives for the cause, acknowledging each person —

Until they find you.

You see it: the way his fist bunches against the leather reigns in his hand, how the muscles of his neck tense when his jaw clenches, the whites of his eyes growing as he stares.

Right. At. You.

Suddenly your stomach bottoms out, but not out of nausea — terror.

A rush of blood to the head so twisting—

No.

—blinding, that the colors of the world bleed together and bleach white—

It can’t be real.

—then suddenly—

The noise ceases.

All you can do is stare back.

.

.

— —

  Clarity.

— —

.

.

  The silence knocks you off your axis for the rest of the day.

Everyone is so much quieter than you anticipated.

What used to be deafening now sounds at a normal octave. 

Your colleagues aren’t boisterous, or inconsiderate, or even loud. 

They’re just a baseline of noise, a soundtrack to the soup you stare at in the mess hall without an appetite.

You even enjoy the dimly lit warmth of the lanterns surrounding the building where you sit alone.

The other five of your squad are bombarding a woman and a man — you think they’re called Petra and Oluo — about their adventures outside of the Walls.

You only realize someone is moving into your space when the wooden chair screeches against the floor of the hall, waking you from a trance.

When your chin lifts, you know who it is already.

You may know nothing about him, but your heart thrums like it does.

Like you’ve known him your whole life.

His jaw is set, expression in an eternal scowl as he drops down unceremoniously in front of you. You idle your hold on your spoon, no longer interested in swirling the utensil like you plan to take a bite.

It’s too much.

It’s so—

“You should eat.”

That honey-smooth voice breaks your thoughts. 

When he had first arrived in the courtyard on horseback, it was gruff. Devoid of emotion.

Now? It’s just under his breath, tickling your ears. Soft.

Concerned.

“Not really hungry,” you confess to the stranger — this Captain Levi — unable to look away.

You see his jaw tense before he inhales, slow and measured through his nose.

“If soup isn’t your ideal, then I can give you my share. Your leader went overboard with spoiling us.”

“Did they?”

“Yeah, shit’s annoying.”

You aren’t sure why you huff through your nose in amusement, but you do. The blunt curse takes you by surprise.

“Why’s it annoying to be offered the good food?” you ask without thinking.

“Because there’s no reason to give my squad special treatment,” he reasons shortly. “We’re all running into the same shitstorm no matter the rank.”

Oh.

So he’s admirable on top of his resilience.

Your heart feels like it’s growing on overdrive with each syllable, but you hold back anything beyond a bland smile in return.

Setting the spoon down, you let your palm rest against the wooden table’s surface.

Silence.

He’s still studying you like you’re a war plan, a strategy he has to conquer.

“I don’t understand,” he finally states out of the blue, baritone voice softer this time.

“What… don’t you understand, sir?”

“Don’t.”

The command causes your stomach to flip. Captain Levi’s shoulders deflate as he shakes his head.

“Don’t… use that, for me. Not when we—”

He cuts himself off, dropping his attention to your chin.

No.

Your lips.

“Not when we, what?” you ask after a pregnant pause, though you’re afraid to ask.

Visibly swallowing, the Captain shakes his head. “Thought maybe it was a myth.”

So he did feel it.

(An overwhelming flare that consumed the sun.)

“I thought it was, too,” you confess after some time, keeping the conversation quiet between the two of you. “I just — it never happened, for me. And I’m prone to migraines—”

“Migraines?” he repeats, eyes narrowing to temporary slits.

“Yeah,” you breathe humorlessly. “By legend, it meant that everyone was my soulmate.”

There.

Laid bare on the table between you, the word makes the confessional.

Two strangers with an invisible string, warring with the reality of clarity before them. You may not know this man, and he may not know you, but suddenly the only thing in your world that brings you peace is the sight of his face and the sound of his voice.

“But it was never them,” you add after a beat. “All my life, it was never them. The only person who ever broke through that haze was you.”

Yet Levi doesn’t flinch. 

All he does is nod, as if resigned to the idea, before reaching over for your hand. 

Wordlessly he picks it up from the table, uncurls your fingers, and places the spoon back in its center. For a minute he pauses, his thumb running along your knuckles as if to commit them to memory.

“Eat,” he urges like it’ll break him. “Eat, and tell me about yourself.”

.

authors note:

Thank you so much for reading! This one shot was unbeta'd and written in an hour as an exercise for Levi Month '24, so I hope you enjoyed my take on the soulmate au.