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seedcleaningspice · 4 days

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A Legacy of Quality in India's Spice Export Industry

The spice trade has been an integral part of India's history for over 2,000 years. From the ancient spice routes that snaked through South Asia to the modern-day globalized market, India has consistently played a key role in supplying the world with high-quality spices. This rich heritage has fostered a deep understanding and appreciation for Spice exporter in Mumbai within the country, translating into meticulous cultivation, processing, and export practices. The nation's deep-rooted expertise in spice cultivation is not merely a tradition but an art form that has been perfected over centuries.

Historical Significance of the Indian Spice Trade

India's spice trade can be traced back to ancient civilizations, with references in historical texts and records indicating the significant role spices played in trade and commerce. Spices like black pepper, cardamom, cinnamon, and turmeric were highly sought after and traded along the Silk Road, linking India to Europe, the Middle East, and beyond. These spices were prized not only for their culinary uses but also for their medicinal properties, making them valuable commodities.

The spice trade flourished during the reign of various Indian empires, including the Maurya and Gupta dynasties, which established extensive trade networks. The advent of maritime trade routes further bolstered India's position as a hub of spice trade, with ports like Calicut (Kozhikode) becoming bustling centers of commerce. European explorers, such as Vasco da Gama, were drawn to India in search of spices, leading to a new era of global trade.

The Evolution of India's Spice Export Industry

The modern era has seen the transformation of India's spice industry from traditional methods to advanced, technology-driven practices. Today, India is one of the largest producers and exporters of spices, supplying a significant portion of the world's demand. The industry has evolved to meet the stringent quality standards of international markets while preserving the authenticity and richness of Indian spices.

India's spice export industry is characterized by a diverse range of products, including whole spices, ground spices, and value-added spice blends. The country's agro-climatic diversity allows for the cultivation of a wide variety of spices, each with its unique flavour profile and characteristics. This diversity, combined with modern agricultural practices, has enabled India to maintain its competitive edge in the global spice market.

Swani Spice- A Beacon of Excellence

Among the multitude of talented spice exporters in India, Swani Spice stands out as a frontrunner in the industry. Established in 1864, Swani Spice has carved a niche for itself through its unwavering commitment to quality, innovation, and customer satisfaction. Their journey to a globally renowned spice exporter is a testament to their dedication and passion for the world of spices.

Capabilities That Set Swani Spice Apart -

Several factors contribute to Swani Spice's position among India's best spice exporters. Let's delve into some of their key capabilities -

State-of-the-Art Facilities - Swani Spice boasts a sprawling infrastructure encompassing over seven units with a combined built-up area of 100,000 square feet. This impressive setup is equipped with cutting-edge processing technology, ensuring efficient and hygienic spice production. The facilities are designed to handle large-scale operations while maintaining the integrity and quality of the spices.

Unmatched Production Capacity - With its advanced facilities, Swani Spice has a remarkable annual production capacity exceeding 70,000 metric tons. This enables them to cater to the demands of a large clientele while maintaining the highest quality standards. Their ability to produce such large quantities without compromising on quality is a testament to their operational efficiency and expertise.

Extensive Product Range - Swani Spice offers a comprehensive selection of spices, encompassing whole spices, ground spices, and blended spice mixes. Their product range caters to various culinary needs, from everyday cooking to gourmet creations. This diversity allows them to serve a wide array of customers, from individual consumers to large food manufacturers.

Rigorous Quality Control - Swani Spice prioritizes stringent quality control measures throughout its production process. From meticulous sourcing of raw materials to employing sophisticated cleaning and sterilization techniques, they ensure that their spices are pure, fresh, and free from adulteration. Their commitment to quality is evident in every step of their operations.

Unwavering Commitment to Certifications - Adhering to the most rigorous national and international quality standards, Swani Spice possesses certifications like BRCGs, USFDA, and India Organic, which guarantee the safety and hygiene of their products. These certifications are a testament to their adherence to the highest standards of food safety and quality.

Building Strong Client Relationships - Swani Spice understands the importance of fostering long-term relationships with their clients. They provide exceptional customer service, technical support, and customized solutions to cater to specific requirements. Their client-centric approach has earned them a loyal customer base and a reputation for reliability and excellence.

Active Participation in Industry Events - Swani Spice actively participates in prominent industry events like the World Spice Conference, Indian Spice Conference, SIAL Paris, Delhi, Anuga Germany, and more. This not only showcases their commitment to the industry but also allows them to stay updated on the latest trends and technologies. Their presence at these events reinforces their position as industry leaders and innovators.

The Global Impact of Swani Spice -

Swani Spice's impact extends far beyond the borders of India. Their commitment to quality and innovation has earned them a global reputation, making them a preferred choice for spice importers and consumers worldwide. The company's spices are used in a wide range of applications, from household kitchens to high-end restaurants, food processing units, and pharmaceutical companies.

By consistently delivering high-quality products, Swani Spice has played a crucial role in enhancing the perception of Indian spices in the global market. They have set a benchmark for excellence, inspiring other spice exporters to elevate their standards and practices. Their success has also contributed to the overall growth and development of India's spice export industry, creating opportunities for farmers, traders, and other stakeholders.

In addition to providing bulk spices, blends, and seasonings, Swani also offers private labelling services, catering to businesses' growing need to establish their unique brand identity and carve a niche in the competitive spice industry.

One of the critical aspects of delivering pure spices is ensuring their quality remains untarnished from the moment they are packed until they reach the client. Swani has leaped into the future by investing in advanced packaging machines that not only save floor space but also enhance product sterility and quality.

Fill, Seal (FFS) Machines have four vertical forms, each designed to cater to specific packaging requirements:

FFS Machines with Dual Feeding System - Precision in packaging is assured, providing a competitive edge.

Multi-head Filling System - Ideal for packing whole products, it ensures the spices' freshness remains intact.

Auger Filling System - Perfect for powders, this system preserves the texture and flavour of the spices.

Pouch Orientation - Versatile options like pillow pouches with three-sided seals meet varied packaging needs.

Packaging is not merely about aesthetics; it plays a pivotal role in preserving the quality of spices throughout their shelf life. Swani considers packaging a top priority, offering a wide array of options to cater to diverse products and sizes.

Sustainability and Ethical Practices -

In addition to its focus on quality and innovation, Swani Spice is committed to sustainability spice and ethical practices. They work closely with farmers to promote sustainable agricultural practices, ensuring that their spices are grown in an environmentally friendly manner. This includes the use of organic farming methods, conservation of natural resources, and reducing the carbon footprint of their operations.

Swani Spice also prioritizes fair trade practices, ensuring that farmers receive fair compensation for their produce. By supporting the livelihoods of farmers and promoting sustainable agriculture, they contribute to the well-being of local communities and the preservation of the environment. Their ethical approach to business has earned them respect and admiration from customers and partners alike.

Looking Ahead - The Future of Swani Spice

As the demand for authentic Indian spices continues to rise globally, Swani Spice is well-positioned to continue its journey of excellence. The company is constantly exploring new opportunities for growth and expansion, investing in research and development to innovate and diversify its product offerings. They are also leveraging technology to enhance their operations, improve efficiency, and ensure the highest standards of quality.

Swani Spice's vision for the future includes expanding its global footprint, reaching new markets, and introducing more people to the rich flavours and aromas of Indian spices. They aim to build on their legacy of quality, innovation, and customer satisfaction, continuing to set new benchmarks in the spice export industry.

The legacy of quality in India's spice export industry is a testament to the country's rich cultural heritage and deep-rooted expertise in spice cultivation. Swani Spice, with its unwavering commitment to excellence, innovation, and sustainability, embodies the best of this legacy. Their journey from a small-scale enterprise to a globally renowned spice exporter is a remarkable story of dedication, passion, and success.

As the global appetite for Indian spices continues to grow, Swani Spice exporter in Mumbai is poised to lead the way, offering the world a taste of India's rich culinary heritage. With their state-of-the-art facilities, unmatched production capacity, extensive product range, rigorous quality control, and commitment to sustainability, they are setting new standards in the industry and paving the way for a bright and flavourful future.

#best spice exporters in india #spice powder manufacturers #spice blends india #organic spice suppliers in india

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365-spicery · 4 months

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Looking for Homemade Spice Blend Recipes? : Unlock Culinary Creativity

For us, creating magic in the kitchen is all about harnessing the power of spice blends. From imparting depth to stews and soups to adding a burst of flavor to grilled meats and vegetables, magic blends are the cornerstone of culinary creativity.

#Blended spices #Magic blends #Curry blends #Customise blends #Aromatic blends #Spice blends #Organic spice blend #365 Spicery's unique blends #365spicery

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kokoraspices · 8 months

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Shop Now for Organic Spices at KokoraSpices

The richness of organic flavors with KokoraSpices. Our premium selection of organic spices promises exceptional taste and quality. Shop now for an authentic culinary journey. https://kokoraspices.com

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spicezen · 8 months

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#shichimi togarashi #spices #spice blends #organic #japanese spice

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fordragonfliesandme · 1 year

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Easy How-to Dry Herbs Using an Elite Gourmet Food Dehydrator

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#cooking #easy recipes #Gardening #how do I dry my herbs?#organic gardening #Recipes #the best herb salt recipes #the best herb spice blend recipes #what are the best herb butter recipes?#what do I need to dry herbs

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 3 months

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Taming the Supe

✨ Soldier Boy x Fem!Therapist!Reader ✨

Minors do ¡NOT! interact with this post. Thanks.

A/N: Let me be upfront and say that I actually haven’t seen the boys 😭 not my cup of tea as far as shows go. So this perception of SB might be very far off. But like, he’s hot and he keeps showing up on my feed so this is happening >:) and in my defense I did try to do a little bit of research on America’s Ass(hole), so hopefully that shows lol. From what I understand he’s a TERRIBLE person who just so happens to be extremely attractive, so slay. Oh, also, to any therapist reading this: I am so, SO sorry.

Icons by me! Any and all interaction is very much appreciated!

Also- I’m looking for a beta reader/ editor! If you think you’d be interested, dm me!

Content Warnings: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 🌶️honestly that about sums it up. There’s SOME- A LITTLE- plot but it’s more plop if you catch my drift. This is toe-curling, eyes-rolling, name-screaming, tsunami-coming level shit, ya hear?? At least, that’s what I went for. ;)

Just note that SB is… very SB for the better half of it. And he has an INSANE breeding kink.

The ending’s real rushed cause honestly this was mainly written for the spice, but hopefully it’s enjoyable!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taming Soldier Boy was a feat that should have been impossible. In all regards.

He was a jackass- apple didn’t fall far from the tree as far as he and his dad were concerned. It wasn’t necessarily Ben’s fault; you cant help your blood. But because of said aforementioned father, Ben was brought up on misogynist ideals and the ideal that he was simultaneously both a disappointment and the bearer of a massive god-complex. The former applied to when he was around his father, the latter to when he was around literally anyone else.

Not only that, but he was separated from society for forty years, being tortured- sorry, “experimented on”- by a skeevy Russian organization that his own teammates had pawned him off too. Sure, he had committed massive, unforgivable atrocities, but quite frankly, the other supes on Payback weren’t much better. Maybe not as bad, but certainly not much better.

He re-walked upon the United States at the very young age of one hundred and three, coupled with PTSD, a god complex and more “back in my day” rants than your weird old uncle could ever hope to spew.

And now the thing is: it’s easy to make him look like he blends in. Trim the disheveled forty-year-old beard, give him some boyish bangs, throw him in a tight white shirt and a Giants jersey with grey sweats and all of a sudden you have a normal looking, abnormally attractive dude. Looks maybe thirty seven. Has a smile that has probably actually, literally charmed the pants off of someone.

But to make him act right? That’s the hard part.

That also where you came in.

You were a therapist with a damn good reputation. Shouldn’t have been involved with Supes in the slightest, but you owed Hughie Campbell a favor. Good kid who just so happened to have powers. So be it.

The kid had stumbled into your office a few years before Soldier Boy returned, and you had had multiple sessions before he dropped of the grid. You paid it no mind- you have a lot of clients, and therapy isn’t a good world to get attached to any of them.

But then one day, after one of Homelander’s many destructive “saves” of the city, you found yourself stuck in a burning building. By some miracle Hughie was in the same building, and he teleported you out and onto safer ground. Sure it was awkward being held up bridal style by a young dude who was ass-naked, but stranger things have happened.

Because of the save, you felt that you owed him, and told him as much. He was gracious, not wanting to take advantage of you, and you went back to not hearing anything from him.

That is, until just after the news article about Soldier Boy’s return broke out. It was definitely a headline that had caused you to raise a brow, but from what you knew America’s first supe was not what Vought made him out to be in the eyes of the public. He was an asshole who killed activists, and was most likely very racist. If anything, seeing the headline made you slightly wary for the good of the world. But you let it slide, figuring that if you already existed in a world where psychos like Homelander did you would probably be fine if there was one more.

Well, you were very much wrong.

A few days after the article broke out, Hughie called you. Asked if you would be okay to take you up on that favor. Of course, you said yes- you were only alive because of him. He had showed up to your house, and teleported you to a dinghy motel with no explanation, rendering you both in the same awkward situation as before. Him holding you bridal style, ass naked. If you had a nickel for every time he’s done that… you’d have ten cents, but it’s still oddly specific of it to happen twice.

“Listen,” he had said, setting you down. You had no choice but to do so, given that he was ass naked and it would be really awkward to see that. So you kept your eyes locked on his as he talked. “You know how Soldier Boy is back?”

“Mhm…” you nodded warily, knowing damn well that that was an ominous hook to your situation.

“Uh, he’s insane.”

“Sorry, he’s, like, he is? Presently?”

“Yeah… he’s in there and I think he would really benefit from a little therapy. His mind’s wired like a grandpa who has stories from every war.”

“Fuck, Hugh,” you cursed. He winced, his sweet eyes opened wide. “Sorry. It’s just.. are you kidding me?” Soldier Boy? It would probably take a team of specialists to figure out what’s going on in that head.

“Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you at least try?”

“Only for you.” It was really hard to have resolve with those puppy dog eyes staring at you.

“Thanks, y/n. Really.”

So you had walked in behind him; waiting as he threw on some sweats that were in a plastic bag outside of the motel room door.

You walked in together, only to see the most beautiful man you’d ever seen sitting on the bed, shoes still on.

Look. Everyone has fantasized about Soldier Boy at least once in their lives. The pinnacle of physical perfection, charisma oozing from his pores- it was hard not to. You were no exception- in your younger years there had certainly been more than a few nights where you were fucking yourself to pictures or videos of him, pathetically rutting on your clit and wishing it was his huge, gloved hands instead.

Of course, that was well before the article on the truth about him broke out. After that he had majorly lost his sex appeal.

However, seeing him in person immediately flashed you back to being younger and sexually frustrated, wondering how a man like that even existed. He was even better looking in person, piercing green eyes boring holes into you.

Thankfully it only took one douchey comment to snap you back to reality.

“So prostitutes are still a thing?” he asked, the question directed at Hughie. You immediately balled your hands into fists at your side, ready to tell this old-ass off, before remembering that you were there on professional business.

“No, no, she’s a therapist,” Hughie told him. “Y/n L/n, the best in the business.”

“You brought me a shrink?” he laughed incredulously. “Fuck you, I don’t have shell shock!”

He definitely had shell shock.

You didn’t bother waiting for Hughie to answer. “Listen, Mr. Boy, I’m only here ‘cause I owe this kid a favor. Would it really pain you so much to talk about yourself for an hour?” Your hands were planted on your hips.

“Man, when did women get so feisty?” he asked, that 1950s accent oozing through his words.

“Once they came to their senses,” I say with sass.

“So what? All I have to do is talk to a pretty thing about me?”

“Pretty much,” you conceded, ignoring the “compliment” he payed you.

“Fine.” Great. He agreed. How wonderful.

“I’m going to get some food, I’ll be back in an hour. If you need anything at all, just text me,” Hughie told me. “Thanks again.”

“Sure,” you replied, leaning in by his ear. “I think you’re going to owe me after this.

“Yeah, you’re probably not wrong,” he agrees, patting you on the back before teleporting away to the store. Man, this power thing… never gets any less weird.

“Take a seat,” Soldier Boy patted his lap.

“Hilarious,” you rolled your eyes, sitting on the other bed. Look, if he hadn’t been the jackass you knew him to be you most definitely would’ve sat on his lap. But you knew better. At least in the moment. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“M’name’s Ben, and I’m a soldier. My daddy hated me, so became a superhero. Surprise, surprise, he still hated me. But I’m better, stronger than he ever was. Might go take a piss on his grave while I’m here.”

“Interesting,” you murmur, putting together a mental file. Name: Ben. No last name? Weird. Daddy issues- makes the god complex make sense. Hmm. “Did you ever have a mother in the picture?”

“No. Died when I was a boy.” Added to file.

“Okay, so then why take the serum?” You know why, but you want to see something.

“You deaf? I said it was cause my daddy hated me.”

“You took a untested, potentially dangerous serum just because of your daddy issues?” you ask, matching his rude tone.

“You- you know what? This is boring. How about you and I fuck instead of this, hm?” he asks. Him saying the word fuck turned you on more than it should, but his misogyny was a quick turnoff.

“I think I’m just going to text Hughie,” you said, moving to stand, wholly unimpressed.

“Wait, no- I did it cause I hated feeling weak. Feeling stupid. Thought it would turn me into someone, just turned me into a jackass machine,” he said honestly, his eyes big and sad.

“Okay,” you said simply, sitting back down. That’s much more like it. “So then what led you to murder innocent people?”

If this were a normal session you would have never asked such a thing. Ever. But this was anything but normal.

“What did you just say to me?” And there it was. A glimpse of that Soldier Boy quick temper. You probably shouldn’t have been making him mad, but you didn’t know how else to go about this given that you weren’t in your professional environment.

“You heard me,” you told him with your arms crossed, trying to bite back the fear caused by

“You’re playing with fire,” he warns, fists balled at his sides. “A question like that’s gonna cost ya.”

You roll your eyes, standing my ground. “Why. Did. You. Murder. Them?”

“Because they deserved it,” he yelled, standing up. You do your best not to flinch, but he was an imposing six-and-some feet tall.

“How? Did the Milk family deserve it? Did their son?” you yell, fighting off the fear in your voice.

He stops then, jaw clenching. “I was the good guy. The hero.” His voice breaks, ever so slightly. His green eyes burn holes into yours. You stare right back, just as intensely.

“So, imposter syndrome.”

“No!” he roared, the sound threatening to bring down the roof of the motel room.

“They were good people. Activists. Made a difference in their community.”

“That got what was coming to them.”

“What? A car being thrown at their house?”

“You…” he steps closer. You sit up in the bed, back against the headboard. “You don’t know me.”

I stand up then. Not nearly as tall as him, but in anger. “Yeah, but I know your actions.”

“Then you should think I’m a hero.”

“I don’t.” I say grimly, arms crossed.

“I’m Soldier Boy, for Christ’s sake,” he spat.

“Yeah, and I’m Y/N L/N. Who fucking cares.” Well this went from therapy to argument real fast.

He leans down then, by my ear. It’s all you can do not to back away as his hot breath fans the column of your neck. “Maybe you should.” His voice is gravelly, rough from anger but also from something else…

“Well I won’t.” You said, maintaining your ground.

“Wrong move, sweetheart,” he said, before crashing his lips to yours. You squeaked into the kiss, surprised, but he just took initiate to shove his tongue in your mouth, exploring with great fervor.

And you knew damn well how wrong this was. How unprofessional you had been; how bad it was that his tongue, this tongue of a murderer, was half down your throat. But in the moment you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, because he was just that good of a kisser. Made you forget about the misogyny and his volatility. At least, for the time being.

He pulled away, smirking down at you.

“If we do this, you’re going to talk to me after. Act like you’re an adult,” you told him sternly, as if your underwear wasn’t soaked with arousal from the kiss.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled.

“I fucking mean it,” you reiterated, hands on his pecs.

“And I fucking said fine,” he retorted. “Ben,” he introduced as an after thought.

“Okay, cool. Ben.”

“That’s the name I better hear coming off those pretty lips in a couple minutes here,” his gaze darkened with lust, emerald green eyes darkened to the color of a forest cloaked in the dead of night..

“O-okay.” And there it is, the first time you gave into the stutter derived from your desire. This was dangerous, but once he kissed you again you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

When he pulled away he thumbed at your lower lip, and you immediately react led to his touch, mouth falling open around the digit. “Good girl,” he praised, and you hated the way you felt proud at his words. He pulled off his jersey and under shirt, urging you to do the same until you both stood before each other, topless. He crowded you against the bed until you fell back, calves draped over the edge. He made room for himself between your legs, kissing you furiously, and you let out little breathy sighs as he did so.

“Attagirl,” he breathed when you gasped his name as he bit along your collarbone. He continued his fiery trail, from the juncture of your earlobe and neck to your collar bone and then down your chest, and you knew damn well that you weren’t going to be able to cover up half of the marks he gave you. But you also couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“You-you can come in me,” you mumbled as he kisses the valley between your breasts.

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I’ll fill you up real good” he said, eliciting a gasp from you when he bites your nipple.

He continued his path of kisses down your body, and in the bottom of your eye you could already see dark marks on the tops of your breasts, making your head fuzzy.

He stopped at your pants, biting the juncture of your hip and and thigh.

“‘m gonna get you ready for me,” he explained, before ripping off your pants and underwear in one go. This is not a metaphor, he literally tore them of you. You whined in protest, but he dismissed you, saying “I’ll get you new ones.”

And even though you knew he most definitely wouldn’t, his breath on your clit stopped you from caring.

He gave you no warning before diving into your soaked pussy, and you all but screamed his name when he fid, your fingers grasping his hair for dear life. He groaned into your cunt but kept going, spurred on by your actions.

The thing was, you hadn’t expected him to be good at eating pussy. He was from, like, the forties, after all. You thought that most people then probably didn’t bother as no one really cared about women and probably their pleasure back then.

Well, Soldier Boy- Ben- was very different.

He worked at you methodically, licking long stripes before thrusting his tongue in an out of you, testing the waters. He kept eye contact, and you could feel the smugness in his gaze as he watched you come apart.

Eventually he switched so that he was sucking on your clit, which would’ve been enough to bring you over already but then he added one of his long, thick fingers to your pussy. You yelped his name, not ready for the stretch and on the edge.

“Don’t stop,” you urged, whining. “Please don’t stop, Ben.”

And he didn’t, adding a second finger and scissoring within you. If his fingers were already like this, his cock…

But you couldn’t think about that then, nor could you really think about anything at all because he started tracing tight patterns on your bud and added a third finger, stretching you so far that you had no choice but to come. He helped you ride out your high for longer than you thought possible, lapping up all of your release before standing up to full height.

“That good, Sweets?” he smirked, looking down at your fucked out self. You nodded dumbly, and he chuckled. “Thought so.”

Your release covered his facial hair, but he didn’t seem to care much, just wiped a little off with his forearm. He then kicked off his shoes and took off his pants and underwear, and that’s when you saw it.

You were already baffled by him- beyond hot, perfect physique, pussy-eating champion, etc.

But his cock? It was huge. And it was perfect, a word that shouldn’t be able to be used to describe the male genitalia.

“Ben- that’s not going to fit-,” you gasp, sounding like a cheap porno.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, and from his tone you could tell he was going to bottom out no matter what.

Oh, god.

He climbed over you, his large forearms on either side of your head as he rested over you in a plank. He put a pillow under your hips, and you knew you were in for it.

He rubbed his glorious dick over your hole, your clit, and through your folds, covering it in your slick, and you moaned his name.

“Good girl,” he praised, before finally lining up with your entrance. You were already clenching around nothing, but then he started pushing in.

If his fingers were big, his dick… even the tip had you a moaning mess.

“Oh, honey, you’re tighter than a virgin who’s never touched herself,” he groaned as he pushed in, you writhing beneath him. “‘n I just stretched you out, too.” The pillow under your hips let him get impossibly deep, and after an eternity he finally bottomed out, so large that you shouldn’t have been able to take him. But you did, and he hadn’t even done anything yet but you were a whimpering, whiny mess under him.

“I’m gonna move now,” he told you, before pulling almost all the way out and back in, slowly. You were writhing under him, but he was undeterred, and just kept going until you gave him easy access.

“Ben?” you asked, your voice sweet. And you didn’t know what possessed you to add the next part of your question, but you did. “Can you fuck me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he groaned, before rearing back again and slamming back into you. It was hard and it was rough, and it was exactly what you wanted even if you knew you weren’t gonna be able to sit right for a week.

You literally had a supe cock in you. You’d seen dildos of these, maybe even owned one, but nothing could do the real thing justice as you whined beneath it.

And if you thought it was already enough just taking him like this, once he started talking you were through.

“Yeah, take it,” he smirked, pounding into you at literal superhuman speed. “I’m going to destroy this cunt until we’re both leaking out of it, and then I’m going to keep going,” he promised against your collarbone, biting anywhere he pleased. You whimper against him, pussy clenching around his enormous length as it crashed in and out of your fluttering walls.

“You like that? Wanna be my little slut?” he grinned, rutting on your clit so you couldn’t answer. “You’d be a real good slut. Would just keep you at home all day, naked and always ready for me. Always full of me too,” he mused, his pace somehow getting rougher. Your mouth was dropped in a permanent ‘o’ as you reveled in the way his huge hands are squeezing your hips and pulling you against him, filing you to the base.

“No other boy can do it like me, sweetheart,” he said cockily. “Fill you up so good, make you mewl.” And as it turns out he was most definitively right about that. But then it was too hard to think about what’s right and wrong when-

“Ben- I- ‘m gonna-.”

“Aww baby, what’s the matter? ‘M I fucking you too good? You can’t talk?”

You moaned pathetically, pulling on his fluffy hair.

“I know, I know,” he said with a soft grunt. “Come for me, pretty thing. Come.” And you did. Hard, all consumingly. It hurt so good that you almost blacked out, but he kept going, doing his damnedest to overstimulate you.

“Ain’t done with you yet, sweetheart. Ain’t even close,” he told you, pulling you off of him and sitting, legs swung over the edge of the bed, feet planted on the ground. He grabbed you, letting you straddle his lap before slamming you down on his length. At this angle he could get impossibly deeper, his dick easily reaching your cervix on every thrust. You screamed, holding onto him for dear life with your face buried in his neck.

“Gonna fill you until you’re full, and then some,” he promised, lifting you up and down, flexing that super strength. “Rub on that pretty clit for me, doll,” he asked. You tried, you really did, but you were just so sensitive.

“That’s okay, I’ll do everything for you, you just take it like a good slut,” he cooed, bringing a hand between the two of you and rutting on your clit without abandon. You came again with a wail of his name before he pistoned into you sloppily, finally spilling his own release into you. And it was messy, and you were far too full to keep going, but he doesn’t care, somehow still hard even though he had just painted your walls with his thick, sticky cum.

You were babbling at this point, raking your nails against him as he kept going to town on your cunt.

“It’s just been too long, baby,” he explained, kissing the side of your head. “Got a little too much energy.” Yeah no shit, with the way that you knew that you were not going to be able to walk.

But he just couldn’t seem to shut up. “Y’know, if I had you back in my day we would’ve had ten kids. You would’ve give birth to one and then I’d put another one in you the next month,” he said as he continued his brutal pace. And damn, this man really had a breeding kink. It was not really your thing-kids tend to get in the way of careers, and also, you were infertile- but anything’s hot when it comes out of those plush lips with the 50s accent, so, naturally, you moan in response.

“Would’ve kept you sated all the time too, sweetheart. Any time you were hot and bothered, had an attitude… I’d fuck it out of you,” he murmured, enveloping you in his arms to hold you closer. You didn’t know if it’s the proximity to him, his voice, or the way that he hasn’t really let you come down from any of your highs, but suddenly you were coming again… just in a different way.

“Aww baby, did you just squirt?” he chuckled. You did all you can to further hide your face in his neck as he just kept going, only concious enough to register your embarrassment and fatigue. He pulls you by your hair to look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart, that was so hot.” You smiled, cheeks pink, your somehow still horny self proud of his compliment.

“It’s okay, just give me one more and you’ll be done, alright?”

“O-okay,” you say shakily. You hadn’t even noticed hot much your legs were quivering until then, and he laughed, squeezing them close.

“You’re so cute, y’know that?” he praised, rubbing your clit. Your blush became even more furious before you came again at him tracing patterns into your poor, overstimulated, sensitive bud. He came in you shortly after with a very sexy grunt, and it was just leaking out of you, going all over the tops of his thighs. He held you at the base of his cock though, not ready to pull out.

“You alright, Dollface?” he asked, gingerly moving- somehow while keeping his cock in you- you onto your back. You nodded, sleepiness overtaking you.

“Good girl,” he nuzzled your nose, gifting you the view of all of the pretty freckles on his cheeks looking like gold specs. You whined as he pulls out, and he tutted, plugging you up with his fingers.

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. If you were a supe we’d be going another ten rounds, but I know you’re tired,” he warned, cock still semi-hard.

“Ben,” you gestured towards it, unsure what you were going to say because as much as you wish you had his stamina, you didn’t.

“It’ll be fine, sweets,” he shrugged it off. “Perks of the unbelievable stamina.” He kissed your forehead, before lightly thrusting his fingers in and out of you in attempt to keep the cum in. Pitiful tears leaked out of the corner of your eyes from the overstimulation.

“There, there,” he cooed, kissing them away. “Just don’t want to waste any,” he smirked, before leaving his long, thick fingers where they were inside you, all the way up to the knuckle. Your legs can’t stop shaking, and you try to talk but you can’t.

“Let me get you some water, put your fingers here for me,” he said, waiting until you do so, feeling your sticky release on your hand. You knew damn well that you werenot going to be able to stand.

“Here, sweets,” he returned, still ass naked, holding a glass, taking your fingers out of your cunt and licking them clean. “We taste real good, sugar.” You whimpered, ready to go at it again, abused pussy be damned. Speaking of, the poor cleaning staff… your mixed releases were dripping out of your poor hole, coating the bed and the bottom of your thighs in the stickiness.

“You really are an insatiable little minx,” he chuckled, holding you up so you can take a sip of the water. You obliged, eagerly chugging it down.

“I’m not going to be able to walk,” you muttered, resting your head on his freckled shoulders.

“Looks like you’re going to need to stick around, so I can take care of you,” he squeezed you.

“I’ll tell Hughie to take another hour, tell him that the therapy’s going real well,” you suggested.

“Oh yeah, real well. Definitely a happy ending, if you catch my drift.”

“Multiple happy endings.”

“Atta girl,” he kisses the top of your head.

You sat there in silence for a bit, basking in the afterglow as he rocked you back and fourth gently.

You’d seen so many sides to this man: Misogynistic, quick tempered, sex-god… but sweetness? This was the one that surprised you. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

“Ben?” you broke the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, I could help you, y’know. If you want, anyway. And it wouldn’t even be proper therapy- you know, cause we just- yeah.” your words were shaky but you meant them. There was something about the supe that made you think that maybe, just maybe you could help him.

“I dunno, sweets. I think I’m a little too far gone.”

Vulnerability. That’s progress.

“Could you at least try?”

“I can’t say no to you,” he said. And you’d take him up on that.

••••••••••••A Couple Years Later••••••••••••

Ben Johnson, as he was now known, ended up becoming a normal member of society. After a LOT of work, he’s grown into himself. He cares about people, his ego’s lessened, his temper too. You had helped him through the whole way- gotten him a proper therapist and everything. And now you two were a couple who could just go out and get donuts, and do normal couple things.

“They’re cream-filled!” he beams boyishly, his bangs in his face and his eyes sparkling. He sets the box down in front of you, somehow having already gotten powdered sugar in his beard. He leans in and whispers excitedly, “you know, like you!”

“You’re bad,” you giggle, as if you don’t have him leaking out of you where you sit. You had stopped for a quickie before you made it to the donut shop, it wasn’t your fault that you were so irresistible to each other.

“Not anymore, sweetheart,” he winks with a click of the tongue. Which is true- there’s a certain softness to him these days. His jaw isn’t so set, the crow’s feet by his eyes have deepened. He isn’t so volatile, his tempers dissolved a bit. He’s become more human.

Not to mention that he’s made great progress in apologizing to his victims and making amends to the best of his ability. It may never be enough, but now that he has someone to teach him how to be right and a better understanding of the complexities of the modern world, there’s a chance. And that’s a chance worth taking, to help someone who could’ve been good become good.

Taming Soldier Boy was a feat that should have been impossible, but you had nailed it.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hope you enjoyed this fic! If you have any ideas for headcanons or fics, my ask box is always open! I don’t bite- not unless you want me too 😏 (so. So. Sorry 😭)

Xx!

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy #soldier boy smut

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tropes-and-tales · 4 months

Text

Don't Gloat

(From the "Shut Up" kiss starter prompts, found here)

CW: Richie being Richie, swearing, mild violence (a misunderstanding), smut (PiV, protected). 18+ only.

Word Count: 7289

AN: Requested by an anonymous person, place, or thing!

AN2: Drabble? I don't know her, apparently.

Your first real fight is over chicken.

You squabble, pretty much from day one. Carmy hires you to help in the kitchen, and Richie immediately takes an intense dislike to you. Adding you upsets the delicate ecosystem of The Beef. You are unnecessary. Richie makes it known on your first day.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he warns an hour into service. “Cousin doesn’t run things.”

“Seems like he does,” you shoot back.

“I’m the manager here.”

Here is where the dislike really starts. Richie is rude and sarcastic, but you’re a chameleon. You can shift and change your demeanor to match what someone is giving you, so when Richie is rude and sarcastic to you, you respond in kind.

You call him “Mister Manager” in a tone dripping with sarcasm, and by the end of that first shift, Richie completely hates you.

The feeling is mutual by the end of your second shift.

At first, you just squabble. You trade barbs and insults. When Richie throws a temper tantrum over Carmy’s organization of the spices, you pout and turn to Ibra and posit that Richie is grumpy because he needs a juice box and a nap. Which makes Ibra cock his head at you. He speaks English impeccably, but sometimes he misses the finer nuances of language like sarcasm.

“I do not think we have juice boxes here,” Ibra says, and Tina swats him as she walks past.

“She’s being sarcastic, you old bitch,” she tells him.

The allusion to Richie being a toddler isn’t far off. He acts childish all the time. He flings cookware around when he’s having a tantrum. He swears, he throws out middle fingers like an angry pre-teen.

He hides your expensive Henckles knives. He turns the heat up or down when your back is turned. Once, he parks you in behind The Beef, and when you go to leave, he’s nowhere to be found—you end up doing a thirty-six point turn, a fraction at a time, before you can properly pull out and drive away.

But your first real fight is over chicken.

The meat delivery is wrong one day. You’re short on beef, but there’s five whole chickens, and Carmy throws up his hands and tells you to come up with something.

So you do.

You roast them low and slow so they stay tender, and you’re putting the finishing touches on the sauce—an adobo-based barbeque that’s the perfect blend of tangy and smoky—when Richie strolls in. He’s in his stupid leather jacket and ridiculous blue track pants, and he announces himself with his usual grinning, “what’s up, you fucking lizards?”

Sweeps and Manny call out their hellos, but Richie ignores them. He’s already super-focused on you…and the sauce you’re stirring over a low heat.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks. He stands too close to you, dips his head close to the pot, and takes a loud sniff of it. Then rears back with a grimace, like you’re simmering a pot of shit and not a finely balanced sauce for your roasting chickens.

“It’s barbeque sauce. For the chicken.”

“What fucking chicken?”

“Meat delivery was fucked up,” Carmy calls across the kitchen.

Richie scoffs and turns to Carmy, and he gestures at you and your sauce. “No offence, Cousin, but the place is called ‘The Beef.’”

“No offence, Cousin, but fuck off,” Carmy replies.

“Heaven forbid we try something new,” you add. You snap the heat off and settle a lid over the pot to allow the flavors time to mellow together. Once the chicken is done, you’ll shred it and mix it in. You have a red cabbage slaw planned for it, and thin slices of sharp cheddar to round it out. You turn towards the refrigerator, but Richie blocks your path.

“Nothing Italian about whatever the fuck that is.” He glares down at you; he’s half a head taller than you, but he has a way of puffing out his chest like a bantam rooster spoiling for a fight.

Maybe other people are cowed by his posturing, but you’re unimpressed and not scared at all.

“It’s about as Italian as ‘Jerimovich.’”

His chest puffs out more, and he takes a half step closer to you. This close, you can smell the cigarette smoke that clings to him, the old man cologne he splashes on with a heavy hand, the subtler scent of laundry detergent.

“People come here every day and get the same thing,” he says. “Same order every fuckin’ day. No one is gonna order whatever fancy Noma bullshit you’re trying to pull out of your ass.”

You take a half step up to him and puff out your chest, and it makes Richie falter for a moment. He leans back, just a fraction, but you note the movement and smirk up at him. You reach out and poke him in the sternum with a forefinger, driving home each point.

“One, this isn’t Noma bullshit. It’s literally slow-roasted chicken. Two, it’s a pretty simple sauce. Maybe it seems fancy to you because it’s more challenging to your palate than chicken nuggets. Three, some customers might appreciate a change in their usual lunch order. Not everyone is so resistant to change, Cousin.”

Your use of the familiar nickname makes his nostrils flare and his eyes widen in anger. “I’m not your fucking Cousin.”

“Sure you are, Cousin.”

“Stop it.”

“I’ll save you a sandwich, Cousin.” The thought occurs to you that you’re being childish now, that Richie has brought out some immature part of you, and you think it’s kinda fun, being a juvenile brat at work and leaning into the fight.

“Fucking stop it.”

“Stop what, Cousin?”

He turns away from you so quick, it makes you blink in surprise. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters to himself, but he’s striding across the kitchen towards the office, and he’s calling for Carmy, so you follow at his heels and call for Carmy too.

“Yo, Cousin, can you fucking fire her already? Jesus fucking Christ, I—” he starts, but you cut him off, mimic his growling voice and Chicago accent.

“Yo, Carmy, when are we gonna fire Richie already? I mean, the place is changing—”

It makes Richie go fully nuclear. The mention of change makes him apoplectic. He turns and crowds you against the door jamb, and he gets right in your face: so close that you can see his eyes aren’t completely blue—they are flecked with grey, like bits of mica in pavement. You’re startled for a moment, surprised to find that his eyes are beautiful, but you obviously don’t say anything because he’s snarling in your face.

“Fuck you!” he spits out, and he points a finger inches from your face. “Fuck you! Nothin’ is changin’ here! Nothin’ needs to change!”

And then he gives you his patented Richie double-chin flick, and he mutters some Italian insult you don’t know, and he’s marching through the kitchen to leave.

Not before he sweeps your mise en place off the counter, sending thin-sliced cabbage and vinegar flying.

Carmy stares at you with a look that is purely beleaguered. He sighs, he scrubs his face with his hands, and he runs them through his hair before he sighs again.

“Whatever you and Richie have going on? Squash that shit, Chef.”

You nod, embarrassed at rising—or sinking—to Richie’s childishness. “Yes, Chef,” you reply.

-----

“Squashing it” mostly means that you and Richie only fight when Carmy isn’t within earshot.

Your fighting still entails getting in each other’s faces. It still means you insult each other, albeit more quietly. You hiss insults at him, he grumbles them back. You part when Carmy shows up, and you each stew in your separate corners and wait for the next round.

You start to suss out where the limits are. You insult him as a father one single time, and the flash of hurt on his face makes you hold up your hands in a truce and apologize.

He insults you once as a woman with daddy issues, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut. You did grow up without a father—he died when you were six, and your only memories of him are full of pain from the stomach cancer that slowly killed him. But you must show the hurt on your face too because Richie takes a step backwards away from you, stammers out an apology too.

All told, once you know each other’s hard limits, you actually fight pretty nicely, and if anyone notices it, no one says anything.

-----

Sunday nights are a good time to come in to The Beef and set yourself up for the week. You work it out with Carmy because it gives him a break and gives you a few more hours. You enjoy the time there with the restaurant being closed—you blast your music, you sing along at the top of your lungs as you rotate stock, make detailed shopping lists for Carmy, and make sure everything is clean.

If one thing infuriates you, it’s the way certain national media outlets focus on Chicago as a cesspool of violence. But it is a large city, and violence does happen, so when you’re in the basement of The Beef and hear the beep of the alarm system as it is deactivated, you immediately feel ice cold all over. The alarm system, Ibra told you once, is easily overcome, and The Beef has been robbed before.

You glance around and see that you’re trapped, unless you want to rush up the steps (not advisable) or shimmy out a tiny window at street level (also not advisable). There’s nothing in the way of weapons in the basement either, so you arm yourself with a half-burnt cookie sheet and tremble as you listen to the heavy tread above you.

Maybe they’ll just trash the place and leave. There’s nothing worth stealing, unless they want to wheel out the massive, ancient Hobart. Maybe they’ll get into Marcus’s stash of good vanilla. Maybe they’ll—

Maybe they’ll make their way to the top of the stairs. Maybe they’ll pause there and start walking down to where you wait. You try not to breathe too loud, but your heart is hammering in your chest, your pulse is in your ears, and you’re flooded with adrenaline as the shoes of your would-be assailant come into view.

You don’t hear Richie’s voice when he calls out your name. You’re too panicked. You don’t hear him, and you don’t even register him when he rounds the corner—he’s in his usual track pants and leather jacket—because you’re fully in fight-or-flight mode…and independent of your will, your body chooses fight.

“Fuck you!” you scream, and you swing the cookie sheet directly at his head with all the force you can muster. Your assailant stumbles backwards with a cry of pain, and you drop the pan and try to scramble past him, but you trip over his foot in your panic and fall hard, cracking your shinbone against the lowest step.

If you ever idly wondered how you’d react in a real life-or-death scenario, here is your answer: you scream and scream, and you clutch one hand to your throbbing shin but flail your other hand at the person reaching for you, and it’s not until you smell him—the familiar cigarette/old man cologne smell—that your panic ebbs a little.

And then you see those blue eyes flecked with grey, and even if Richie is your enemy at work, he’s never really been an enemy in the true sense of the word. The relief that you aren’t about to be raped or murdered floods you so suddenly that you burst into tears.

And then you hug him, your arms so tight around his middle that he breathes out a sharp oof, but then he wraps one arm around your trembling form while the other clutches his bleeding nose in an attempt to staunch the blood.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he asks. His voice is thick and nasally, but there’s a hint of amusement to it.

“Thought you were an intruder.” You release him from your hold, and you will yourself to stop shaking.

“Carmy.” He shakes his head. “Guess Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole didn’t tell you I was coming by.”

“He did not.”

Richie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wrinkled napkin. He presses it to his nose and winces, and your panic is replaced by shame. You’ll never live this down, you realize. Richie is going to tell everyone first thing tomorrow, and he’ll add his usual Richie flourishes to make your screams more shrill, your flailing more erratic in the retelling.

His nose stops bleeding, and he checks it tentatively. He prods at the swollen skin, red that is going to bruise by morning. He fixes you with a curious look.

“You hit harder than I would have thought.”

“I play softball.”

“Where?”

“Lincoln Park. At the North Avenue fields.”

He huffs at that. Clears his throat. “Yeah, my daughter has t-ball there.”

Your panic is gone now, and you feel more like yourself. Your leg throbs at where you banged it, and it will be bruised by morning like Richie’s face. You limp over to the big table and gather up your coat and purse.

“Don’t do that,” you tell Richie.

“Do what?”

“Don’t…whatever. Talk to me nice. Tell me about your daughter. Don’t do that.”

He snorts and says, “why the fuck not?”

“Because we’re not friends, and you scared the shit out of me, and now I’m all keyed up and just want to get home instead of having an impromptu bonding session with the one guy at The Beef who truly, honesty hates me.”

“Alright, fine. You’re a fucking head-case to freak out the way you did, and I think you broke my fucking nose. Better?”

It startles a laugh out of you, and your laughter makes Richie grin. It’s shy, and he ducks his head, but you catch it all the same.

He clears his throat again, then asks if you drove there. You tell him no—you had a premium parking spot on your street, so you took the L. He nods at that, and he seems to be thinking through something, so you pull on your coat and sling your bag over your shoulder and wait for him to say something.

“Let me drive you home, at least, “he finally offers. “You’re all sorts of fucked up.”

“I’m fine.”

“The hell you are. Someone looks at you wrong on the train, gonna catch an assault charge.”

“You’d love to see me in prison,” you reply. “Out of your way. No one left to defiantly make a delicious chicken sandwich special and destroy the system here.”

“Asshole.” He shakes his head, then gestures for you to take the stairs ahead of him. “I’m driving you home. Let’s go.”

You can’t admit that a ride sounds fantastic. You do feel keyed up, anxious and twitchy, and even if it’s Richie, you’re grateful for the offer.

Even so, as you limp upstairs, the pain in your leg makes it easier to admit to him. You turn as he resets the alarm, and you thank him, softly.

“Yeah, fine. Whatever.” He points at his car, then grumbles, “c’mon already.”

-----

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Sunday evenings become yours and Richie’s thing. The work should go twice as fast, but Richie doesn’t work so much as… not work. He leans in the doorway of the walk-in as you take inventory, he perches on the counter as you make giardiniera for the next day. He sits in the office as you write out the order list for Carmy, and he gripes about how long you’re taking, how he has better things to do.

If that were true, why does he spend every Sunday with you? You doubt Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole told him to, yet he shows up every week and complains the entire time. He complains the entire drive to your place, and when you thank him for the ride, he either flips you off or makes a jacking-off motion with his hand before he peels away from your curb.

“You almost done?” he asks now. “Got shit to do.”

“You don’t have shit to do.” You check the takings from last week, do a quick calculation in the margin of the print-out. “If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

“Why, you afraid I might introduce a dish that isn’t entirely Italian-American approved?”

He grumbles, “nothin’ needs to change. Menu’s fine the way it is.”

“You really don’t have to stay, Richie. I can handle myself.”

“Bullshit you can.” He leans forward, taps the side of his nose. “You handle yourself so well, you dislocated my fucking nose.”

“And it gave your face some character,” you retort.

“What’s wrong with my face?”

You glance at him, roll your eyes. “Aside from the fact it’s always in my face, glaring or stirring up shit? Nothing.”

He leans back in his chair again and sighs. “I don’t stir up shit.”

“You do.”

“Don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I fucking don’t.”

“You talk way too much, Richard.”

“Don’t call me fucking Richard. You sound like my asshole mother-in-law.” He pauses, then amends it to, “my former asshole mother-in-law.”

A long beat of silence passes. You calculate the meat order, the vegetables, the shelf stable stuff. You balance out the order against where there’s already overdue bills—Carmy is juggling the vendors as best he can, and you try to give him relief where you can—

“Done yet?”

“Nope.” You cross out the one line for the produce vendor, split it between two vendors. “What are you in such a hurry for?”

“Told you. I got stuff to do.”

You glance over at him. He does seem more keyed up. His leg bounces up and down, and he wrings his hands in his lap.

“What sort of stuff?” you ask.

He mumbles his answer, and you miss it at first. When you arch an eyebrow at him, he repeats it. An embarrassed, “got a date.”

You pause in your writing and turn to face him. Fak told you once about Richie’s imploded marriage, and he had heavily implied that Richie was still pining for his ex-wife. “A date?”

He shrugs. “Kind of a date.”

“What’s kind of a date?”

Another shrug, and he fixes his gaze to the dirty tile floor. “We went out last week, and we talked about grabbing a drink tonight. I was gonna text her after I drop you off.”

“Sounds like a regular date to me.”

He lifts his hands in a gesture of helplessness, then lets them fall again. “I dunno. Wasn’t really feeling it, you know?”

You turn completely to face him, your list forgotten. “Then why agree to a second date?”

Another shrug, a sheepish lift and fall of his shoulders. The two of you are toeing the line of near-friendship, your usual squabbling turning into an honest-to-god friendly chat, but maybe Richie doesn’t have any confidants in his life, because he sighs, then mutters about how she seemed cold, how she wasn’t charmed by his Bill Murray voicemail greeting story, but how he thought he should try anyway—

“Richie, I’m not your gal pal in a rom-com, but if you aren’t feeling it, don’t do it. Jesus, that’s just common sense.”

He fixes you with a glare. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were a goddamned relationship expert.”

“It’s common sense.”

“When was the last time you went on a date?”

You bristle at the question. Your love life is about as dead as The Beef’s commercial credit, but Richie doesn’t need to know that. But you hesitate long enough that he can guess, and he laughs at you, and you bristle more.

“I knew it!” He points at you, and you swat at his hand until he lowers it. “You give off this whole ‘hasn’t been laid in a long time’ vibe.”

You turn away from him and bend your head back to your ordering list. “Shut up,” you mumble.

“All those prissy little dishes you add to the menu. You’re all wound up. It makes sense.”

“My culinary excellence has nothing to do with my love life or lack thereof.” You hope your tone is even and nonchalant, but you fear it comes out as defensive. Which it must, because Richie holds up his hands again.

“No judgement. It’s tough out there. I get it.”

You groan and turn away from him, twisting yourself to get his smirking face out of your peripheral. “You should leave. Go get ready for your kind-of date.”

“Nah.”

“Seriously, you can go.”

“Nah.” You hear his deep breath, then a beat later, he continues.

“If you ever want to blow off some steam, we could…” He trails off, but his intent is clear, and you feel a prickly heat break out across your skin.

“…shut up, Richie.”

You turn a little and he reappears in your peripherals. He presses his hands together in a prayer position, then presses his fingertips near his mouth in an expression of thoughtfulness.

“Shut up, Richie isn’t no, Richie.”

“It’s most certainly no, Richie.”

“Look at me.”

“I gotta finish this list and send it to Carmy—”

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You can’t. You stare at your handwriting—the 50 pounds of cake flour Marcus needs—and you feel yourself heating up at the sudden image of you and Richie—no, you shove the mental image away, shake your head to clear it, and the man notices all of it.

“Why can’t you look at me?” he asks, and his voice is soft, low. A graveled rumble, roughened by the cigarettes he chain-smokes when he’s not inside, and you don’t know if it really has been that long, but it’s a step-progression of reactions in your body. The prickle of heat along your skin, the way your skin feels too tight. The way your mouth feels too dry all of a sudden.

The strong, traitorous pulse of desire between your legs. Fuck.

“Wouldn’t have to mean anything,” he continues with that low voice. “No one would have to know.”

“Shut up, Richie.”

“Still not hearing a no, sweetheart.”

You breathe in deeply through your nose, then turn to face him squarely. You look him right in his eyes—those bright blue eyes, flecked with grey, beautiful—and say, “No, Richie.”

He stares back at you, and a smile slowly unfurls across his face. A real smile, not his usual shit-eating grin or smarmy smirk. A real smile that, paired with his gorgeous eyes, makes his face transform into something beautiful. It’s like he’s lifted his mask for a moment and is showing you who he really is.

“You’re tempted.” He sounds in awe of the revelation, and he leans back against the wall. “Holy shit, you’re really tempted by it.”

“No, I’m—”

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off. “You are.” His smile stays fixed on his face, and he shakes his head. “Holy shit, sweetheart.”

You grumble out the weakest rebuttal, but he only laughs and shakes his head again, and the last half hour is passed in uncomfortable silence: you as you email the shopping list to Carmy with hands you will into steadiness, and Richie as he grins at you and chuckles to himself.

Of course he drives you home, just as he always does.

And of course he parks his car and comes up to your apartment when you invite him up, which is a first.

*****

A therapist would have a lifetime of secure business if Richie ever decided to pursue therapy for himself. Not that he would—feelings are bullshit, and life is tough all over—but if he did…there’d be a lot of deep shit to mine.

At the core of him, Richie is desperately insecure. He had a dicey childhood, and he glommed on the Berzatto family to make up for his own family’s shortcomings. He had Tiff, for a glorious while, then lost her. He has his daughter, but only part-time. He lost Mikey, the nearest thing to a brother, and now he’s slowly losing The Beef as it becomes something more than a sandwich shop.

No wonder he feels lost all the time. No wonder he lashes out and hurts those closest to him.

No wonder he’s been riding your ass for months, trying to get you to quit even as his initial dislike has mellowed out to acceptance and then to…something else he won’t name.

He can’t lie to himself: that night in the basement shifted things. Maybe you concussed him along with the dislocated nose. Maybe he has slight brain damage. He can’t account for it any other way, how seeing you so terrified caused a sea-change in him. How feeling your arms around him, clinging to him and trembling so hard, softened him towards you.

He won’t name it. He won’t even think it. The most he’ll admit is, “maybe I don’t completely hate her.”

Which somehow turns into this moment. The two of you awkwardly standing in your entryway, unsure if the other is bluffing, unsure if the other is serious. There’s too much bad blood in your shared past, and you each are expecting the other to say “sike!,” to turn it into a humiliating story to share in the morning with the crew.

You’re both wrong.

“So, uh, nice place.” He looks around your apartment and rubs the back of his neck. “You got a lot of books.”

“I like to read.”

“Yeah. Nice.” He takes a few steps deeper into your place, and he studies the titles on the nearest bookshelf. “Stephen King. Clive Barker. You like the spooky shit, huh?”

“Nothing as scary as being ambushed in the basement at night by you.”

He snorts, shakes his head. As he’s softened towards you, your teasing has gotten gentler too. You’ve always rose to meet his energy, and now that he’s not actively despising you (he won’t name it, he will not), you aren’t actively despising him.

“Nothing as scary as seeing a giant fucking sheet pan flying at your face—”

You cut him off. “Okay, Richie. Enough.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Enough words. More action.” You face him and lift your eyebrows challengingly. “Unless this was all a ruse.”

He shakes his head.

“Unless this is just a prank to embarrass me later.”

He shakes his head again, and he flexes his hands along his sides. He’s itching to reach out and touch you—he remembers the feel of you in his arms, the way you tucked so perfectly against him when you were scared. You had been relieved to see it had been him; you had felt safe enough to reach for him, and he’s been chasing that high ever since. A therapist would make short work of this moment, but Richie wants to feel important to you again. He wants to feel like you need him to protect you, to shelter you. He wants to feel like a man, needed, necessary—

You’re talking but he doesn’t register the words. Instead, he reaches for you, pulls you to him, and when you look up at him in surprise, he dips his head and kisses you.

It’s brutal at first. He’s out of practice. He’s certainly never kissed someone like you—someone so infuriatingly challenging—and he mashes his lips too hard against yours, can feel your wince as you struggle to kiss him back. So he breaks the kiss and tries again, much more carefully, and it’s so much better: the softness of your lips, the quiet moan you give as you kiss him back.

Maybe you need it bad, but he needs it just as bad, and when he considers why he does, he pushes the thought away completely. Because if he thinks on it too much in this moment, if he thinks on how good it feels, the way you tug at his clothes—eager but shy, your hands steady but your eyes unable to meet his—he’d have to face an uncomfortable truth.

Still, he needs to see you. Needs to look you in the eye. He grasps your chin and tilts your face until you’re looking at him.

“You okay with this?” He says it softly. He says it as kindly as he can.

“Yeah.” You nod, then add, “no one needs to know, right?”

“Right.”

“No one needs to know.”

“Exactly.”

You offer him a smile, and it’s genuine. It’s not your normal smart-ass smirk, the way one corner of your mouth lifts higher than the other. It’s a real smile, and he has to push that uncomfortable truth away again because if you’re cute when you smirk, you’re beautiful when you smile, and Richie can’t dwell on the fact.

“C’mon then, Richard. Bedroom’s this way.”

“Asshole,” he huffs out, but you push his jacket off of his shoulders and let it fall to the ground, and you tug him down your hallway.

You alternate and he lets you strip him and yourself—a piece of his clothing, a piece of yours. You leave a trail so that you’re both nearly naked once you’re in the bedroom. He stands in front of you, his boxers tented, and he takes in the sight of you. In standard, everyday lingerie—dark grey bra and panties—but the everyday shit makes his mouth run dry. Elaborate lingerie is not really his thing, but seeing a woman in her everyday shit, the comfortable cotton shit…that feels more special, somehow. Like you woke up that morning and put on the functional stuff, but now here you are, nearly naked for him.

You always rise to meet his energy. He’s openly ogling you now, and you gaze back at him, openly staring back. He has a moment of doubt—maybe he should lift more, cut back on beers after work—but your eyes are blown dark with desire, and it makes his cock twitch to see it.

You seem to want him as much as he wants you.

“C’mere, you fucking pain in the ass,” he growls, and you roll your eyes but bridge the distance between you. You press the length of your near-naked body against his, and the sudden touch makes him bite back a groan. He puts his hands on your waist, and you lay your palms against his chest, and you kiss again.

The kiss grows and grows. He bullies his way into your mouth, sweeps his tongue and licks against your mouth, and you answer in kind. You kiss him back, and your hands stroke his chest, his shoulders, his arms. One snakes lower and grasps him through his boxers, and he swears against your lips at the feel of your palm stoking him.

He pushes you backwards towards the bed. He pushes you until you hit the bed, and then he pushes you down, but you reach out and grasp him golden chain and tug him down to join you.

You always rise to meet him. He takes charge and slots himself between your legs, but you move eagerly. When he lowers himself onto you, still partially dressed, you lift yourself up and press against him. Your clothed breasts against his chest, and he dips his head and tugs the cups of your bra down until you’re exposed to him. He lowers his head and kisses you, works his mouth against you. He sucks a mark on each curve of your breast, right where your bra will cover. He wants you to see them and think of him, a pair of mementos to this moment.

“Fuck, Richie.” You breathe it out, and your hand cups the back of his head. You hold him against you, and he’s too happy to stay here for a while: sucking against your nipples, biting lightly until you squirm. Laving your tender buds with the flat of his tongue, pinching and tugging until you shove him away with a groan.

“Too much,” you whine, but you tangle in his chain again and tug his mouth to yours. He kisses you, relishes how flushed your skin feels under his lips as he kisses his way across your face, down your neck, across your bare shoulders. He pauses long enough to undo your bra in earnest, tosses it aside. Then he kisses his way down your chest again, traces his tongue further down to your soft belly until his chin is perched right on the waistband of your panties.

“Can I?” he asks. He traces a finger under the lace edging, and he watches your face. You gaze back at him, your eyes still dark and pupils blown. Your lips are swollen, and your chest rises and falls with how hard you’re breathing.

You nod. “You can take them off.”

“Is that it? Nothing else?”

You laugh, breathless. “Some other time. Really want you to fuck me instead.”

Some other time. The thought makes Richie’s dick twitch at the idea of doing this another time.

You feel him twitch against you. You laugh again to feel it, and you lift a leg to hook it clumsily along the waistband of his boxers. You try to push them down, and then you’re chanting “come on, come on, come on” as he scrambles to shuck off the rest of his clothing, scrambles to hook his fingers under your panties as he draws them down your legs.

“Condoms in the bedside stand,” you tell him, and he opens the drawer, snags one. He notes the bright pink vibrator there but doesn’t remark on it. He’ll tuck the image away and revisit it days later in the shower: a rich bit of fantasy where he pictures you masturbating to the thought of him.

He tears the foil with his teeth, and he watches you as he rolls the condom on himself. You’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, better than he ever imagined, and a galling little voice in the back of his head asks, “so you’ve been imagining her, huh, asshole?”

He ignores the voice and what it might say next. He stands over you and asks instead, “how do you want me, sweetheart?”

Another smile. A genuine one. “However you want it.”

“Anal, then.”

It startles a laugh out of you, and Richie thinks he might love that—the way he surprises you into laughing. You prop yourself up on your elbows and look at him. You kick out a bare foot and press your toes low against his belly, centimeters away from touching the tip of his cock where it stands at attention.

“Not that,” you chide. “That requires prep.”

“Not a no, sweetheart.”

“It’s a no for this moment.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” He grips your ankle and circles it with his hand, and he bends your leg. Pushes it away from him, pushes it closer to you, and it reveals your gorgeous pussy to him: the neat-trimmed curls, the slick arousal, the swollen bud of your clit.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he groans to see you. “Gotta tell me how you want me, and fucking quick.”

“Missionary works for me,” you reply. “Old reliable.”

So he climbs onto you. He kneels between your legs, then pushes them apart obscenely wide. You stay propped up on your elbows, watching him, but when he settles between your thighs, you fall back against your pillow.

“Good?” he asks.

“You haven’t done much,” you point out.

“Smart-ass.” He reaches down and grasps his cock at the base, and he drags the tip of himself through your folds. He coats himself in your arousal, feels the heat of your pussy even through the latex, then notches himself at your entrance. He looks down and pushes just the tip in, and the sight of it—barely inside you, the promise of burying himself inside you—makes his vision go fuzzy around the edges.

“Richie.” You reach up with one hand to cup his face, and you peer up into his eyes. “Fuck me, please.”

Your other hand finds the small of his back. You can’t quite reach his ass, so you lay your palm against the small of his back and urge him forward, and he pushes into you. He goes slow but steady, and he hears your small gasp as your tight cunt makes room for him. He feels the stretch of it, the smooth muscles twitching at him, and he studies your face for any pain but finds none.

“Pussy’s gripping at me,” he grits out once he’s seated in you. “Guess you needed it bad after all.”

“Don’t gloat.” You bear down on him, squeeze him like a fist, and it makes him choke out a curse. “You needed it bad too, I think.”

“Not complaining here, sweetheart.”

You take his chain in your hand and tug him down to you again. You kiss him, then mumble against his mouth, “so fuck me then, Richard. Move.”

He does as you ask. You’re a pain in the ass, and you’re a representative of all the change occurring in his life without his permission, but he wants to make it good for you. He remembers the way you clung to him that night in the basement, and he wants to capture that feeling again…even as he shoves the memory aside and begins to fuck you in earnest.

He doesn’t thrust in and out so much as up and down; he learned this move a long time ago and knows it feels better for his partner. His thrusts hit every part—each reseating brushes the tip of him against the end of you, and it makes you whine each time. The slide in and out, at this angle, draws along the firm bud of your clit. And each time he pushes himself home, the base of him grinds along your clit too, and it makes him feel like a million bucks when you gasp out his name, warn him that you’re close—

“Fuck, fuck. God, Richie, I’m c-close. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—"

And then it tears out of you: the hard snap of your hips as you lift them to meet his most punishing thrust, the way you tremble under him, your legs shaking, your eyes rolled back in your head. The way your cunt grips him, ripples against him until it feels like he’s being pulled into your body, and the thought takes hold of him. He wants to crawl inside you, wants to fill you with himself, wants to merge with you, and the thoughts are so rapid-fire he feels insane for a moment before he settles.

You open your eyes and blink up at him, surprised. “Holy shit.”

“Told you.”

“Don’t gloat.” You lift your head and kiss the side of his neck, and he adjusts himself and keeps fucking you.

He’s hit his rhythm now; he deals you hard thrusts and you take them. You beg for more. His arms burn as he arches over you. His calves burn as he drives his cock into you, and sweat beads along his hairline. He’s covered in a sheen of it, but he doesn’t stop. He fucks you hard, and his gold necklace swings in time to his thrusts. It hits you in your face until you hook it with a finger and put the fucking thing in your mouth, and he doesn’t know why it's so hot—maybe it makes him think of your mouth on parts of him instead of just his necklace.

He makes you come a second time, and it breaks around you again, leaves you trembling and incoherent, but after you recover, you push him over. It’s easy for you to do—he’s winded as fuck from all his smoking—and Richie finds himself underneath you as you ride him.

He’s happy for the break, but he’s happy to see this side of you. Any shyness from earlier is long gone. You sit astride him and bounce on his cock, and it makes your tits bounce too, and he can look down at where he disappears into your tight, wet pussy.

He’s not going to last much longer, and he tells you so.

“S’fine,” you pant out. “Want you to come too, Richie.”

Then you reach down and take his hands in yours, you place his hands on your tits, and he sort of loves how you take charge at the end. You push your chest into his hands and ride him, and once he’s touching you there—pinching at your nipples until you arch your back—you reach down and touch yourself. He watches, transfixed, as you rub a tight circle against your clit, and he can feel you getting close now. Two orgasms down, he can feel the warning signs.

“Try to come with me,” you order him. “Want to feel it.”

He’s close. He’s been close for a while, has been forestalling his own pleasure by listing out White Sox statistics in his head. But now he wants to come with you as you’ve asked (he wants to do everything for you, anything you ask, he wants all of it, and he struggles to push the thoughts away this time). He breathes in time with your riding, and he feels his balls tighten as his orgasm approaches.

“I’m close,” he warns. “Fuck, sweetheart, are you close?”

“Y-y-yes.” You close your eyes and drop your head, focusing on whatever you’re feeling.

“Gonna come with me?”

“Mmm-hmm.” You take a sharp breath, then moan as you come a third time, and if he doesn’t quite come with you at exactly the same time, it’s close enough: the way your pussy grasps at him, draws him in deeper is enough to push him over the edge, and he shifts his hands to your waist. He pulls you down onto him and stills, feels the pulse of his orgasm as he spills in the condom.

It takes him a long while to recover. He feels weightless. Boneless. He feels like he’s melting into the covers of your bed. Like he could sleep for a hundred years. Like he could give up cigarettes and Xanax if he could just stay here and fuck you whenever his anxiety or insomnia are too much….

You dismount on shaky legs, and you disappear. When you return, you’re in an oversized t-shirt that skims the top of your thighs, and you hand him a warm washcloth.

“You can take your time,” you tell him. “No rush.”

Richie reaches down and pulls the condom off. He ties it off and looks around until he sees a waste bin. He tosses it, then flops back down on your bed.

“Just need a minute,” he says, but his voice is already thick with sleep, and he doesn’t remember anything else until morning when he wakes up to the smell of strong coffee and sizzling bacon.

He doesn’t remember you standing over him, bemused as you watch him snore. He doesn’t remember you lying down beside him, covering both of you with a blanket.

And he certainly doesn’t remember reaching for you in his sleep. He doesn’t remember how you wrap your arms around him, just like that night in the basement of The Beef, and how he sighs at the feeling of you tucked against him again.

#richie jerimovich #richie the bear #richie jerimovich x you #richie jerimovich imagine #richie jerimovich x reader #the bear #tropes and tales

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anadiasmount · 7 months

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doing the calling my boyfriend ‘husband’ trend on jude while you do a grwm + diml !! just know he’d be so shy and giddy 😚😚

OHHH MY GOD!! YESS!! our hubby indeed 😣🤞🏻

your day had consisted of pure media filming, for your tiktok, instagram, youtube, and a small blog you had owned. you woke up early so film a get ready filming bits of you and your boyfriends private life, making breakfast, walking outside and working out together, cooking, and now doing a get ready.

you’d seen the popular trend circling around where you called your boyfriends husband on tiktok, especially that one video that made you physically wince and pained you with the one guy being passive aggressive and denying it. you with jude that wouldn’t be the case.

because any chance he got he would call you pet names and his girlfriend. ‘my girlfriend’, ‘my girl’, ‘my angel’, ‘my dearest girlfriend’, ‘my wifey’, all that. he often got teased at the internet, not afraid of hiding and showing his protectiveness of you, a hand on you at all times or letting them know you were his.

jude had left quickly to pick up some shoes he’d ordered, which gave you plenty of time to hide a extra camera and your phone to record his reaction to the prank. while you waited you showed of new sets of clothes that came in, along with other pr packages that were sent to you

jude hand returned when you were finishing your brows, handing you a blue gatorade and snacks to munch on as you filmed, greeting the camera and giving you a peck on your lips. “sorry guys, my handsome and lovely husband just brought me some goodies,” you apologized showing the treats and opening them.

even though you couldn’t see, you felt and sensed jude tensing and pausing what he was doing. “as you know and have seen, i will be launching new items soon on my blog! my husband jude has helped me organize this drop for months so i’m super excited for you all to see and buy!” you smiled blending out your baking powder underneath your eyes.

jude smiled inwards, looking at you who was distracted by perfecting your contour and blush. he asked himself if this was one of your pranks or if it just naturally fell from your lips, either way, he couldn't hide the adoration built in his chest at hearing you call him 'husband'.

he didn't understand why all of a sudden he felt nervous and unable to look you in the eyes, with shaky hands as he attempted to open his own snacks and bottled water. he felt a hot and loving sensation in his chest, having the urge now to be close to you.

you heard jude shuffle around, grabbing a random bean bag and sitting next to you where you were almost finished with your makeup. he complimented how you looked, asking questions about what you used and if you were close to finishing. you smirked knowing you had a small reaction out of him, jude was now all soft and charming.

hours later, you were editing all the content from your phone and camera onto your laptop, sitting on the kitchen island as jude was busy away cooking. you felt like continuing the prank so you grabbed your phone and did just that.

"welp, it's the end of the day! I'm very much tired but i made a lot of content for you guys so stay tuned! on the nights we're together my dearest husband cooks for us, and tonight he's making chicken with pasta," you say kinda loudly, walking over to judge and laying your head on his bicep.

jude cleared his throat, letting out a nervous chuckle and smiling shyly. he nervously stirred the cause, listening to you blabbering about your day and skincare products. "i have to pee, but i'll leave my husband to explain the recipe and what he's making," you say in a hurry, leaving jude with words in his mouth and the phone, as you ran off.

you watched from a corner a stuttering mess of jude as he went on and on listening to the ingredients and spices he mixed for dinner. grabbing your phone with his free hand showing the mess in the kitchen and the food that was almost ready to be done.

you acted like nothing happened, pecking jude's cheek when returning. "i have a question," he said curiously avoiding eye contact with you, leaning on the counter. you interlocked your hands resting them under your chin with innocent eyes. "is there a reason you've been calling me your husband today?"

"you don't like it?"

"no baby i do! but i was just wondering since you never call me that... you did it earlier today and i noticed it," he said, you tried not to laugh on the spot at his uneasy state. "am i your husband? need to know because i can't recall the day we got married," he joked.

"it's a tiny prank," you admit seeing jude roll his eyes and lean away from you. "of course it is," jude said seriously with a small frown on his face. you followed him apologizing over and over again with a laugh, jude feeling a small pang of sadness wave over him. "jude," you call out, trying to get his attention but he refused moving or backing away.

"prank or no prank, i hope you still know your my hubby, that's what i have you saved on your contact handsome," you admit, seeing a glint of happiness reach his brown eyes again. "really?" you nod, "I'll show once you say bye."

he quickly said bye, kissing the camera on turning it off, grabbing you, and setting you on the marble counters. he kissed you deeply, blowing your breath away at his certain dominance, your heart warmed as he gently grabbed your left hand and placed the slightest kisses on your ring finger.

"i hope you know that one day i'll be your husband, and you will be my wife forever."

#judey thoughts 5️⃣#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham blurb

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flightrising · 27 days

Text

Autumn, our heart says autumn. We're ready for autumn.

Audio: Autumn Chill Mood LoFi HipHop by ComatSounds

DRAGON INFORMATION

Pumpkin Dragon: A Fathom in Golden Harvest set, Chrysocolla/Malachite/Scales

Apple Dragon: An Imperial in Rose Harvest set with a Scarlet Unicorn Mane, Iridescent/Shimmer/Stained

Cinnamon Dragon: A Wildclaw in Sangria Harvest set with a Sunrise Unicorn Mane, Cinder/Blaze/Filigree

Blackberry Dragon: A Snapper in Viridescent Harvest set with Starlight Unicorn Mane, Boulder/Myrid/Flecks

Berry Dragon: A Skydancer in Dark Harvest set with Flaxen Unicorn Mane, Fern/Paisley/Underbelly

Ginger Dragon: A Ridgeback in Viridescent Harvest set, Fade/Blend/Wish

Caramel Dragon: A Guardian in Autumn Harvest set, Flaunt/Flair/Glimmer

Latte Dragon: A Fathom in Copper Harvest set, Fern/Myrid/Points

[Video Description] A vertical video that opens with a black screen. As the autumn themed lofi hiphop music fades in, a gentle string with an organ playing under it, gold text begins appearing via a retro typing effect and the text reads The Calendar says August but our heart says and holds for a moment. Then the beat drops, giving the string and organ melodies an uptempo vibe and the video transitions to a triple pumpkin Fathom dragon, followed by the following in a reasonably rapid succession: a triple red Imperial representing apples, a triple Cinnamon Wildclaw, a triple Blackberry Snapper, a triple Berry Skydancer, a triple Ginger Ridgeback, a triple Caramel Guardian, and finally a triple Latte Fathom dragon. All of the dragons are wearing different colors of the Harvest set apparel, which includes a robe, filigree metal jewelry that appears as grapevines, and hanging grapes and leaves on the headpieces and wingpieces. Apple, Cinnamon, Berry, and Blackberry also have long color coordinated braided manes. For each dragon, the following words appear in the same retro type effect, but with the matching Flight Rising color wheel color of the autumn spice or scent the dragon is representing: Pumpkin, Apple, Cinnamon, Blackberry, Berry, Ginger, Caramel, and Latte. The video then fades to the Flight Rising logo and remains there as the music fades out.

#Flight Rising #FlightRising #Dragon #Dragons #Autumn #LoFi #Virtual Pet #Video #Digital Art #Art

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najia-cooks · 8 months

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[ID: Diamond-shaped cake slices arranged into a layered star shape, topped with powdered sugar, with dates and prunes placed around the edge of the plate. Two plates of Italian Christmas cookies are in the background. End ID]

Whole orange cake with sumac and pink peppercorn

This moist, flavorful cake is inspired by Sicilian torta all’arancia (orange cake) and Moroccan مَسْكُوتة‎ ("maskūta"). There is no peeling, zesting, or juicing of oranges required; oranges are added whole, and lend the citrus oils in their peels, the sweetness and flavor of their juice, and the tenderness of their pulp to the final cake.

Maskouta is a wheat-flour-based cake that often comes in orange or yoghurt varieties—this recipe combines both versions. The addition of yoghurt makes the cake incredibly tender, and adds a smooth tartness that perfectly balances the brightness, robustness, and slight bitterness of the citrus oils that infuse the cake. Cardamom and orange blossom water, both occasional additions in Moroccan orange cakes, add delicate aromatics that further round out the flavor of the cake; sumac and pink peppercorn add a sour, fizzling touch that draws the brightness of the orange to a head at the front of the palate.

Recipe under the cut!

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Ingredients:

2 whole organic oranges

1 3/4 cup (210g) flour

1 1/2 tsp sumac

3/4 tsp pink peppercorn

6 green cardamom pods

1 tsp baking powder

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp kosher salt

2 tsp orange blossom water

3 Tbsp olive oil

1/3 cup non-dairy yoghurt

1/2 cup non-dairy margarine, softened

1 cup vegetarian granulated sugar

Sicilian and Moroccan orange cakes do not usually include butter; however, I find that a creaming method, which incorporates air into a solid fat such as margarine, helps replace some of the leavening power of whipped eggs.

Instructions:

1. Scrub oranges thoroughly. Submerge them in cool water (weighing them down with a plate) and soak overnight.

This step removes some of the bitterness of the orange peels. If you don't have time for soaking, or if you very much dislike any amount of bitterness in sweets, zest the oranges by taking off just the orange layer of the peel with a microplane or vegetable peeler; set zest aside. Remove as much of the white pith as you can and discard. Use the zest and the peeled orange slices in place of the whole oranges.

2. Remove oranges from water. Blend them, along with orange blossom water, until homogenous. The mixture does not need to be completely liquid.

3. Toast cardamom pods and pink peppercorns in a dry skillet on medium heat until fragrant. Grind in a spice mill, or with a mortar and pestle. Combine dry ingredients (spices, flour, salt, baking powder, and baking soda) in a mixing bowl.

3. Cream margarine in a large mixing bowl with an electric hand mixer for 30 seconds, until fluffy. Add sugar and cream for 2 minutes, until aerated.

3. Gradually add pulverized oranges and fold in. Add olive oil and yoghurt and fold to combine.

4. Slowly add dry ingredients and gently fold until combined. You should get a fairly thick batter.

5. Prepare a 9" x 13" (about 22 x 33 cm) glass cake pan with oil or margarine. Pour in batter and flatten with a rubber spatula.

6. Bake in the bottom of an oven at 350 °F (175 °C) for 50 minutes, or until a toothpick entered into the center of the cake comes out clean.

7. Once cake has cooled, cut into slices and arrange as desired. Top with powdered sugar.

#baking #cake #cakes #orange cake

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seedcleaningspice · 1 month

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Embracing Organic Excellence with Swani Spice, India's Premier Organic Spice Supplier

Today, the global shift towards healthy living and environmental sustainability has significantly increased the demand for organic spices. Amidst this transformative wave, Swani Spice stands out as a leading supplier of organic spices suppliers in India. Our commitment to organic cultivation is not just a business strategy but a core value deeply ingrained in our philosophy. We are dedicated to giving back to the communities and ecosystems that sustain us, ensuring a brighter and healthier future for all.

For Swani Spice, organic certification transcends mere labeling; it is a testament to our unwavering dedication to sustainable agriculture. Since 2005, our ‘Green Footprint Program’ has driven our commitment to organic farming. This initiative goes beyond eliminating synthetic pesticides and fertilizers. It bridges the gap between traditional agricultural practices and cutting-edge farming science and technology, fostering a holistic approach to organic cultivation.

The Green Footprint Program: A Journey of Over 15 Years

Our Green Footprint Program, now over 15 years old, is a testament to our dedication to sustainable agriculture. Collaborating with more than 8,000 farmers across 30 field offices, Swani Spice manages an impressive 20,000 acres of pesticide-free land. This initiative is not just about farming without chemicals; it embodies our commitment to precision farming and eco-conscious practices, ensuring the highest quality organic spices while contributing to a healthier environment for future generations.

Achievements of the Green Footprint Program

The results of our Green Footprint Program speak volumes. Currently, 29 of our products are certified organic, producing an astounding 12,500 metric tons annually. This significant output not only reduces our environmental footprint but also contributes meaningfully to the global organic food movement. Our vision is to expand and strengthen this program, increasing the number of organically farmed products and boosting production per spice.

Why Choose Swani Spice as Your Organic Spice Supplier?

When you choose Swani Spice, you choose more than just a supplier; you partner with a company that believes in:

Uncompromising Quality - We source our organic spices directly from farms that adhere to stringent organic certification standards. This ensures the highest levels of purity, potency, and flavour, providing you with the best ingredients for your culinary creations.

Traceability and Transparency - From farm to fork, Swani Spice’s Green Footprint Program ensures complete traceability and transparency in our supply chain. You can trust that our spices are ethically sourced and responsibly produced.

Sustainable Practices - Our commitment to organic farming and environmental restoration ensures that your spice choices contribute positively to the planet. By choosing Swani Spice, you support sustainable agriculture and help preserve the environment for future generations.

Unwavering Expertise - With over 15 years of experience in organic spice cultivation and processing, Swani Spice offers unparalleled expertise to meet your unique needs. Our deep understanding of organic farming practices ensures that we deliver the highest quality products.

Certifications - Certifications are crucial in establishing trust and assuring clients of product authenticity and quality. Swani Spice Mills holds several certifications, including USDA Organic, BRC, FSMA, ECOCERT, INDOCERT, and more. These certifications validate our adherence to stringent quality standards and food safety regulations, providing you with the confidence to choose Swani as your supplier and partner.

Swani Spice is more than just an biggest spice supplier; we are a passionate team dedicated to building a future where delicious flavours coexist with a healthy environment. Our Green Footprint Program is a cornerstone of this mission, driving our commitment to sustainable agriculture and environmental stewardship.

Water Conservation - Water is a precious resource, and our Green Footprint Program emphasizes the importance of water conservation. Through innovative irrigation techniques and water management practices, we ensure that our farming methods are water-efficient and sustainable.

Soil Management - Healthy soil is the foundation of organic farming. We implement soil management practices that enhance soil fertility and structure, promoting the growth of healthy, vibrant crops. Our commitment to soil health ensures that our spices are not only flavourful but also nutritious.

Promoting Biodiversity - Biodiversity is essential for a balanced ecosystem. Our farming practices promote biodiversity by encouraging the growth of various plant species and protecting natural habitats. This approach not only benefits the environment but also enhances the quality and variety of our spices.

Combating Climatic Changes through AAIRa - Our AAIRa initiative is dedicated to combating climate change through tree planting. We aim to plant at least 10,000 trees by the end of 2030, reducing our carbon footprint and contributing to a greener planet. This initiative is a testament to our commitment to environmental sustainability.

Empowering Livelihoods - We believe in empowering the communities we work with. By partnering with local farmers and providing them with training and resources, we help improve their livelihoods and ensure the sustainability of our supply chain. Our commitment to social responsibility is at the heart of everything we do.

The allure of organic spices lies in their commitment to natural cultivation practices. Unlike conventional farming methods, which may rely on synthetic fertilizers and pesticides, organic agriculture prioritizes sustainable techniques. This translates to:

Richer Soil - Organic practices nurture the soil, promoting biodiversity and fostering a healthy ecosystem for plants to thrive. This results in nutrient-dense soil that nourishes the crops, leading to more flavourful and aromatic spices.

Free from Chemicals - Organic spices are devoid of harmful residues from synthetic pesticides and herbicides. This ensures a purer, healthier product for you and your family.

Enhanced Flavour - Unburdened by chemical interference, organic spices boast a more natural and vibrant flavour profile. The true essence of each spice shines through, elevating the complexity of your culinary creations.

Environmental Sustainability - Organic farming practices promote soil health and biodiversity, contributing to a healthier environment for future generations.

By choosing organic spice suppliers in India, you actively support a sustainable food system and contribute to a healthier planet.

Our Extensive Offerings -

● Whole, Crushed & Ground Spices - We offer a vast selection of whole, crushed, and ground spices, sourced directly from the finest origins.

● Customized Spice Blends & Seasonings - Our expert team can create unique spice blends and seasonings tailored to your specific requirements.

● Steam-Sterilization - Our spices undergo a meticulous steam sterilization process to ensure optimal food safety.

● Private Labeling - We offer private labeling in india services, allowing you to brand our high-quality spices under your label.

As a leading organic spice supplier in India, Swani Spice Mills provides a one-stop solution for all your spice needs.

Swani is a company built on innovation, meticulous quality control, and a constant pursuit of excellence. It understands that staying ahead of the curve requires embracing cutting-edge technology. We have invested heavily in state-of-the-art processing units spread across over 100,000 square feet, equipped with advanced machinery and automation systems.

Here's a glimpse into how technology empowers Swani Spice -

● Automated Processing Lines - Consistent processing and minimal human error.

● Temperature Control Systems - Preserve delicate flavours and aromas.

● Advanced Cleaning and Sorting Technologies - Maintains hygiene and removes impurities.

● Digital Integration - Streamlines operations, minimizes waste, and optimizes production.

By embracing technology, Swani Spice achieves a level of efficiency and control that surpasses traditional methods.

Swani Spice is unwavering in its commitment to quality. Their dedication goes beyond sourcing; it encompasses a robust quality assurance (QA) system -

● Stringent Sourcing Standards - Partnerships with certified organic farms ensure spices are cultivated according to strict guidelines.

● Multi-Level Testing - Every batch undergoes rigorous testing throughout processing.

● Traceability - Customers can trust the origin and journey of their spices.

● In-House Testing Facility - Allows for swift and efficient analysis.

By prioritizing quality assurance at every stage, Swani Spice guarantees the purity, authenticity, and safety of its products.

Quality assurance goes hand-in-hand with quality control:

● Skilled Workforce - Comprehensive training on quality control procedures, food safety protocols, and industry best practices.

● Regular Audits - Internal audits identify and address any deviations from established standards.

● Continuous Improvement - A culture where employees are encouraged to contribute to maintaining high standards.

Choosing Swani Spice means choosing quality, sustainability, and social responsibility. Our organic spice blends are crafted with care, ensuring that each product delivers the authentic flavours of India while contributing to a healthier planet. From our meticulously managed farms to your kitchen, Swani Spice is dedicated to providing the best organic spices that nature has to offer.

Experience the difference with Swani Spice - where quality, sustainability, and social responsibility converge to create a greener world for all. Contact us today to explore our range of organic spice products and discover the taste of authenticity and purity in every bite.

The growing demand for organic spices reflects a global shift towards healthier living and environmental sustainability. Swani Spice stands at the forefront of this movement, offering high-quality organic spices that are produced with a deep commitment to sustainable spice in inda agriculture and social responsibility. Our Green Footprint Program, which has been driving our organic cultivation efforts for over 15 years, exemplifies our dedication to creating a positive impact on the environment and the communities we serve.

By choosing Swani Spice, you are not just selecting an organic spice supplier; you are partnering with a company that prioritizes quality, traceability, and sustainability. Our unwavering commitment to these values ensures that you receive the best organic spices while contributing to a healthier planet.

Explore the world of Swani Spice and elevate your culinary creations with the true essence of organic Indian spices. Join us in our mission to build a sustainable future where delicious flavours and a healthy environment go hand in hand. For all your organic spice needs, Swani Spice is your trusted partner.

#organic spice suppliers in india #whole sale spice supplier #private labelling in india #spice blends india #spice powder manufacturers

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fic-over-cannon · 9 months

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Holiday Scenes: The Christmas Market

jason todd x gn!reader

summary: a date at the Christmas market with jason

rated general | wc: 0.6k

The Christmas Market in Gotham isn’t very big, organizers worried about it becoming a tempting target for the city’s villains. Since you’re going with Jason, you’re not worried about that all. No, what you’re worried about is Jason eating himself sick at all the food stands. Every corner you turn there’s a new stall with tempting smells and something new to try. Jason will turn, give you a mischievous look and ask if you want to split whatever new thing is on the menu. Already you’ve shared German bratwurst piled high with translucent onions, cheese and potato pierogi fried off in bacon grease and served with a dollop of sour cream, a large soft pretzel with mustard on the side, and a baked potato loaded with all the fixings. You haven’t even gotten to dessert yet and already you have to jokingly beg for a time out to recover.

So with fragrant glasses of warm gluhwein wrapped in your hands you drag him over to the shops. Jason will stand back to watch you get excited over various finds, enjoying the flush the wine brings to your cold cheeks and the excitement in your eyes when you discover something new at the next table. Together you manage to finish up the last of your Christmas shopping with a hand blended batch of smoky earl grey tea for Alfred. You get so engrossed in a stall selling hand-knit Aran sweaters that you only mumble your acknowledgment when Jason tells you he’ll be back in a second, not even fully registering his words. Jason returns with cups of hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream and sporting sticks of cinnamon to stir them with. Gently pulls the shopping out of your hands and replaces it with a warm cup. The heat of the drink makes your nose run a little in the cold, burning your throat in the best way. It starts snowing a little, drifts of flakes gently coming down, making the steam from the hot chocolate more visible. By the time you finish your drinks, you’ve found another stall selling hand made ornaments decorated with goldwork embroidery. Excited, you get Jason to help you choose one to mark your first Christmas together. The two of you settle on a robin in a Santa hat, promise to put it up as soon as you get home.

Finally you allow Jason to drag you back to the food stalls. He’s found one selling German Christmas cookies and he’s almost giddy to try them. Vanillekipferl, lebkuchen, pfeffernusse, and nussecken disappear quickly, leaving behind only sticky fingertips and smiles. He vows to learn how to make them all so that next year the two of you can eat your favourites all season long. The crepe stand is good, but you have to sheepishly tell Jason that you like his better. The compliment gets him glowing, and for the next two weeks he won’t stop mentioning to his brothers that you think his are the best you’ve ever had. You buy some gingerbread men to go, holiday treats for the next few days.

The two of you are warm and impossibly full, ears and noses a little red from the cold. The shopping’s been done (and a few small things may have slipped into your bag while Jason wasn’t looking, a surprise for him to open later) and now you’re ready to go home. Under the soft festive lights, the snow is making everything more charming, frosting the tips of Jason’s eyelashes and catching in your hair. Unable to resist the sight of him like this, you press a quick kiss to his lips tasting the sugar and spices you find there. Hand in hand and resting your head on his shoulder, the two of you leave the Christmas Market, bright cheeked and content.

#you cannot convince me that jason wouldn’t love Christmas markets #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x y/n #jason todd fic #red hood x you #red hood x reader #sunnie writes 🌻#snack fic

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spicezen · 11 months

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Spice Zen’s Kitchari spice blend is a certified organic, gluten-free spice mix of 9 premium quality spices. This earthy, warming spice mix with its savoury, slightly bitter, sweet and umami notes will elevate the simplest of a dish and spread a heavenly aroma while cooking. Use this spice mix to make nourishing Kitchari.

#kitchari #spice blend #organic #gluten-free #spices #spice mix

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anyaeras · 2 years

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Beg & Call || N.Romanoff

Natasha Romanoff x AFAB reader

Summary- y/n and Natasha are togeter in Russia on a mission yet, Natasha take interest in making her yours.

Warning- Smut‼️ dom!natasha x Sub!reader strap-on , vibrator, fingers, gaging, a bit of boundge (very little), pet names, pet names (and the name slut) , ass smacking. Overstimulation

Psa- I am a Russian speaker, so my simplifications might not be the easiest to translate over. I'll do my best to include meaning/definition in the writing.

My Master list

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Agent y/n, reporting in Saint Petersburg. Day 81 of mission BW.

Y/n had been working beside the amazing black widow for a few months now, yet that strong red head was like an addiction for y/n drawing them in like a fly caught in a spiderweb.

Tonight wasn't going to be the end of this mission but it would be a breakthrough, tonight Natasha and y/n were to attend a party like event which would not only have hydra members attending, but one of the main leaders of the organization would be attending giving us the opportunity to get the Intel they needed to arrest or take down the agency.

Walking out of the bathroom from the safe house y/n and Natasha was staying at, you watched as Natasha was now dressed in a beautiful black cocktail dress, her beautiful, red hair was hidden behind a wig to keep her from being recognized in what she could call her "hometown"

You were dressed nice as well, in a beautiful cocktail dress following the dressing norms of the event and Russian stereotypes. You watched as Natasha pulled a beautiful fur jacket onto herself before handing you some accessories, Natasha kept you on your toes her sly attitude yet charming personality always kept you feeling butterflies inside your chest.

"You coming darling" Natasha asked y/n heading for the door already causing you to play catch-up, stumbling over yourself to keep up with the Russian spy.

On your way to the event Natasha gave you quick remarks as reminders, to help you perfect your Russian, yet you also knew other than basic Smalltalk you had no intentions of speaking anybody.

Upon arrival to the event you win, along with the mission planned as told, placing the earpiece into your ear and walking and confidently memorizing your backstory. On the other hand, to the famous black widow this was child's play, so she decided to spice up the mission for herself, spending the night teasing you, Natasha was more than aware of the little crush you had on her, and honestly she was ready to use a to her advantage, and let's be honest y/n would look so pretty under her.

After mingling for some time, the man that you were here to gain information on just so happened to approach you.

"привет, ты здесь впервые? как тебя зовут?" (hello, are you new around here? What's your name?) he asked quickly with a sly smirk on his face, you looked him in the eye holding yourself with confidence before responding.

"я тут с другом я Саша" (Im here with a friend, I'm Sasha) y/n played off the questions with a hold of their identity quickly, using a common enough name to blend in. The conversation was going fine, until you felt a hand riding down on your lower back, turning around only to be meant with the sharp features of Natasha Romanoff, she was moving her hand down, lower while pushing herself in the conversation covering up for your Russian, you were a very well trained spy, and could keep a straight face, but the feelings inside you were bubbling.

Going along with your job, you originally thought Natasha was just playing the part of your "friend" but over time tonight she's been all over you, yet of course only you would notice, the black widow never blew her cover. Heading away from the crowd you found a door which specifically read "Не входить" (do not enter) hoping for some Intel you pulled a pin from your nicely done hair, and use the lock pick tool that was built into your bracelet to break into the room being met with an entire lab, a huge score for this mission you were quick to put flash drives where are you could to extract what you can in the time you have.

Rushing out of the room with the Intel you know held, you went to find Natasha to tell her it was safe to leave, making your way to the exit noticing the fake taxi waiting for you guys knowing it was safe to speak in the vehicle, as the driver was a shield agent.

Setting in the backseat you tried to fill Natasha in whom was sitting beside you but her hand slowly riding up on your thigh was mildly distracting, yet you want more so badly. Hoping to get back to the safe house quickly so you could make space between yourselves in hopes to pull yourself together, and be professional.

When arriving to the safe house as the two of you entered the safe house, Natasha pushed y/n's body up against the door as it shut going straight for the kiss, Natasha held that kiss till you both couldn't breathe, before pulling you to the bedroom.

"You were so good today? Being such a good spy hmm?" Natasha teased you with the praise, as she stripped herself from her dress revealing a strap she had hidden under tight dress, the size was shocking, y/n wondered how she could even hide that.You realized right then and there you were hers to fuck, hers to make dumb, you were at Natasha's beg and call.

"Look at you baby already so dumb for my cock?" Natasha comment made you moan softly causing her to chuckle

Natasha walked closer to you, grabbing your jaw with her long fingers holding you in a tight hold "You are okay with this right y/n"

Your rapidly nodded in response "yes, yes please" you didn't realize you were horny enough to beg, but you needed her.

"Strip." That was all y/n needed to strip away of all clothing.

"Aww so pretty for my детка." (Baby) Natasha was now hovering over you, pinning you to the bed, before reaching around to get a soft silky rope to tie your hands above you head, now limiting your senses as Natasha started to kiss you, no need to fight for dominance she already was in control, holding the deep kiss for some time before moving down your body, going for your neck before your chest. Drawing nice moans form your mouth was like music to the famous black widows ears.

She reached down running her single pointer finger threw your folds collecting your arousal

"Princessa you are dripping" Natasha teased before shoving her fingers into your mouth, pushing back cause you to gag a bit giving herself satisfaction in your gags

"You're so pretty for me, you want me to fuck you baby. Beg" Natasha pulled her fingers from your mouth moving the now wet fingers to your clit rubbing soft and slowly prompting you to beg her.

"Shit- Natalia please fuck me, please OH FU-" before y/n could finish as Natasha heard her given name she pushed her cock in quickly now feeling the need to fuck the person lying below her. Starting off at a quick pace not giving y/n much time to adjust, yet the pain would be pleaser full soon

"God I could fuck you for hours, days honey." Natasha grunted out pulling high pitch moans from your throat. She felt your tights try and close around her, as she was getting ready to rip your first orgasm from your body. With a scream you could hold it as you let go around her cock.

Natasha didn't give you much time to recover as she quickly flipped y/n over pushing you ass up in the air getting ready to take y/n from the back

"Mmmm what a good slut you are for me y/n I think we could go again, you can do that for me right darling" Natasha spoke down to you as her cock still was slightly inside your pussy, your hand still restricted above your head, and your face now being pushed into the bed Natasha have you a signal if it got to much, so she could stop.

She felt she gave you enough time to calm down she reached over to grab a vibrator turning it on to hold it onto your clit whole re-entering your pussy again bottoming out real fast. Pounding your cum right back inside you as she pressed the vibrator harder on y/n's clit

Y/n's legs started to shake leading Natasha to slap y/n's ass harshly making them Yelp.

"Come on baby, cum for me" Natasha encourage as y/n was a moaning mess reaching their peak and Natasha was pushing them over as she railed y/n.

Y/n came harshly shaking under Natasha, but the black widow wasn't done, she pulled the vibrator away letting it fall but not once she she stop railing y/n's cunt.

"T-to much nat..." y/n whined

"Come on baby one more" Natasha pushed getting herself off as she worked y/n into overstimulation determined to pull one more orgasm from them. Y/n was trembling as nat slapped her ass a few more times as y/n came so hard with a scream around Natasha's cock she collapsed into the bed, Natasha held her close yet she didn't remove the cock from their pussy. Holding y/n in their arms letting y/n whine but also relax.

"Such a good little slut for me, next time I won't be so easy on you" Natasha whispered into y/n's ear

WOW I WROTE THAT, DAMN anyway enjoy you kinky bitches

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