#Paper Courier Bags

[allindiaevent]

Crafting Your Brand Identity with Custom Printed Paper Courier Bags

In today’s competitive market, building a strong brand identity is critical for businesses to differentiate themselves and attract customers. Packaging is an often ignored part of branding. Custom printed paper courier bags are a unique way to establish your brand identification while also delivering practical functionality. Importance of Brand IdentityThe role of packaging in…

[deangro]

Eco-Friendly Convenience: The Rise of Paper Courier Bags

Introduction: In today's fast-paced world of online shopping and e-commerce, the demand for efficient and sustainable packaging solutions is higher than ever. Paper courier bags have emerged as a popular choice for businesses and consumers alike, offering a greener alternative to traditional plastic packaging. In this article, we will explore the benefits and growing popularity of paper courier bags, highlighting their eco-friendly nature and the convenience they bring to the shipping and delivery process.

Environmentally-Friendly Packaging: One of the key advantages of paper courier bags is their eco-friendly composition. Unlike plastic bags, which can take centuries to decompose, paper courier bags are made from renewable and recyclable materials. They are often manufactured using responsibly sourced paper fibers, which reduces the environmental impact associated with packaging waste. By opting for paper courier bags, businesses can align their shipping practices with sustainability goals and cater to the increasing consumer demand for eco-conscious packaging.

Lightweight and Durable: Despite their lightweight nature, paper courier bags are designed to be sturdy and durable. They offer sufficient protection for a wide range of products, including clothing, accessories, books, and small electronics. The strength of the paper material ensures that items remain safe during transit, reducing the risk of damage. Moreover, the lightweight design of paper courier bags helps minimize shipping costs, as they weigh less than their plastic counterparts, resulting in potential savings for businesses.

Customizability and Branding Opportunities: Paper courier bags offer ample space for branding and customization. Companies can easily print their logos, slogans, and other promotional messages on the bags, effectively turning them into mobile advertisements. This branding opportunity enhances brand recognition and visibility during the shipping and delivery process, creating a positive impression on recipients and potentially attracting new customers. The customizable nature of paper courier bags allows businesses to create a cohesive and professional image, strengthening their brand identity.

Easy Handling and User-Friendly Features: Paper courier bags are designed with user convenience in mind. They often come with features such as self-sealing adhesive strips or easy-to-use peel-and-seal closures, eliminating the need for additional packaging materials like tape. This simplifies the packing process for businesses and makes it hassle-free for customers receiving their orders. Furthermore, many paper courier bags include tear-resistant properties and have side gussets, providing flexibility and allowing for easier insertion and removal of items.

Recyclability and Circular Economy: Another notable advantage of paper courier bags is their recyclability. Once used, they can be easily recycled alongside other paper products, contributing to the circular economy. Recycling paper courier bags helps conserve natural resources and reduce waste sent to landfills. Moreover, businesses can encourage customers to recycle the bags by providing clear instructions or partnering with recycling initiatives, further promoting sustainability.

Conclusion: Paper courier bags have gained momentum as a sustainable and convenient packaging solution in the e-commerce industry. Their eco-friendly composition, lightweight durability, and customizable branding options make them an attractive choice for businesses looking to align their practices with environmental values while enhancing their brand image. As consumers become increasingly conscious of the environmental impact of their purchasing choices, paper courier bags offer a practical and eco-conscious packaging alternative. By adopting paper courier bags, businesses can demonstrate their commitment to sustainability and provide customers with a seamless and responsible shipping experience.

[globalparachem]

Choose the Best e-Commerce Packaging Products for Your Business

eCommerce packaging Products outline the strategies you employ to protect your products during shipping, build brand recognition, and manage shipping costs. Excellent and aesthetically beautiful packaging can increase sales and customer satisfaction. Global Parachem LLP, situated in Delhi, India, is one of the top online sellers of tamper-proof courier bags, paper courier bags, paper mailer bags, and sustainable packaging.

Paper-based Packaging for Online Sales

Flexible packaging made of paper is more environmentally friendly and offers protection.

The majority of package manufacturers agree that single-material solutions are still the best choices, particularly if they are fully recyclable. As a result, protective components like molded fibre inserts are becoming more popular as opposed to harder recyclable materials like air cushions and expanded polystyrene shapes.

In addition to these significant shifts in product and package preferences, society as a whole is becoming more aware of the need for more environmentally friendly e-commerce packaging products, and innovators are always coming up with new environmentally friendly options. Given how much rubbish e-commerce has produced in the past, the future of the industry may be green.

[incorrect-new-vegas]

Arcade: Like they say, "If you can't beat them, curl up in a ball and protect your organs." Six: How many fights have you lost that you know that? Arcade: I've lost count

[multiroots]

Multiroots - The Preferred Courier Bag Supplier in the UAE

In the bustling business landscape of the UAE, finding reliable partners for your bag manufacturing needs is crucial for establishing a strong brand presence. Enter Multiroots, a leading bag manufacturer UAE known for its quality craftsmanship and diverse product range tailored to meet your specific requirements.

When it comes to environmentally friendly packaging solutions, Multiroots shines as a provider of premium jute bags wholesale Dubai. These sustainable and stylish jute bags not only enhance your brand's eco-conscious image but also serve as practical and fashionable choices for your customers.

From Concept to Creation - Multiroots Redefining Bag Manufacturing in the UAE

Additionally, Multiroots stands out as a top-tier paper bag supplier in Dubai, offering a wide variety of customizable paper bags that exude elegance and sustainability. Whether you need sleek packaging for retail stores or eco-friendly options for events, Multiroots has you covered with their high-quality paper bags.

For businesses in need of reliable courier packaging solutions, Multiroots excels as a trusted courier bag supplier in UAE. Their durable and secure courier bags provide the ideal solution for transporting goods safely and efficiently, ensuring customer satisfaction and brand reliability.

At Multiroots, customer satisfaction and product excellence are at the core of everything they do. With a commitment to quality, sustainability, and innovation, Multiroots sets itself apart as your go-to partner for all your bag manufacturing needs in the UAE.

Choose Multiroots today for premium-quality bags that elevate your branding and resonate with your environmentally conscious customer base!

[lunarw0rks]

*groveling on the floor* nice simon

pleeaase anything w big sweet man simon 😭🩵

ugh… you know what's been on my mind lately?? neighbor!au with all my favorite men - but especially simon! here are some of my thots;

he's so... awkward and off-putting. in the sweetest way. like a stray dog that's only allowed to bite you. neighbor!simon, who's the perfect coresident. rarely home, and if he is, you don't even notice! except for those awkward elevator rides...

obviously, simon being the most vehement introvert, does his best to avoid him. but it's a shady apartment building. things happen; maintenance or rowdy visitors blocking the stairway. so sometimes it's easier to suffer thirty seconds of agonizing silence.

there was you. across the hall from the strange, intimidating man. it's difficult not to be frightened, especially when his way of communicating is through grim eye contact, or god forbid a deep sigh when you accidentally bump into him.

neighbor!simon is never upset with you, though. grumpy is merely his default :( for many reasons. but he always feels awful when you give him that anxious look or go out of your way to make space for him in the narrow hall.

it's not every day he meets someone like you, quiet and respectful of his boundaries. let alone live next to. so... he began to make peace his own way. taking advantage of him always being up at dawn; salting the pavement by your patio to ensure your safe commute to work. cleaning up the stack of mail that the courier tossed at your box, tucking it in neatly.

aaaand eventually moves on to more outgoing gestures. knocking on your door, two little taps with his knuckle. asking if you heard "that noise" outside, purely to make sure you were alright. partially his overthinking getting the better of him, also a cheeky move on his part to see your face.

finds a way to learn more about you, even when you're at your most bashful. typically, when he's caught you in your nightclothes, all pampered and ready for bed. next to him, you feel ridiculous, as if he's not wearing the most basic athleisure.

sometimes neighbor!simon will lean against the entrance of the building, watching cars and listening to the city noise. but he isn't out there for fun. in his mind he's waiting on someone; you. when he hears the creak of the rickety door opening, his posture becomes even straighter than usual.

"bloody cold out here, isn't it?" his gruff voice murmurs, breath visible with every word. months ago, the presence would've startled you. but you'd grown used to his very predictable, unpredictable routine of running into you.

you sigh out your words, rubbing your icy fingers together. no gloves, he notices, but doesn't acknowledge. "why aren't you inside, simon? place is pretty cozy if you look past the water damage."

simon scoffs, "i like the cold," he places his hands into his pockets and reaches for the door handle. "y' workin' today, love?" he inquires, despite noticing your work bag slung over your shoulder.

you mutter an unenthusiastic 'yes', exhaustion evident in your features. it's too damn early for you to be out and about, struggling to make ends meet.

he hums to himself as he walks away, waiting until your figure disappears before crossing the street. he's on his way to the nearest shop.

that evening, when you return to your flat with dragging feet, there's no sign of neighbor!simon. out front, out back, or in the hall. only sign of life is the flickering lamp peaking under the gap of his front door. frankly, you're too exhausted to think about it much.

you raise your key to the lock, stepping forward when it gives way. something blocks your foot, nearly sending you tumbling forward. you peer down at the quaint gift box, nearly embarrassed at the tumble it gave you. proves that your post-work tunnel vision is no joke.

curiously, you examine it. no fancy wrapping paper, plain cardboard. and in place of the ribbon is some decorative twine, halfway decently tied into the shape of a bow. with a gentle tug, you release it and take off the lid. the aroma of cardboard is stronger now, as well as a spritz of a very familiar cologne.

gloves; knitted and coordinated to match your winter jacket. you smile to yourself, taking one last look at simon's door behind you, just as he shuts off the lamp for the night, the spotty yellow glow ceasing.

waiting on you to get home safe, no matter how late. of course, there's a price tag on them. he's not that showy, or crafty. anything he'd try to knit would end up a crumpled slab of yarn.

stepping inside your flat, you set your things down on the counter and run your finger over the soft, thick material. you can already picture the relief these will be on your walk, no longer clocking in with stiff, frozen fingers. new winterwear was on your list for months, but you're notoriously bad at gifting yourself nice — basic — things. and apparently, it shows.

the hollow box rattles when you set it down, as do your keys. finally, you slip them on, thinking of all the days you passed your neighbor simon. never knowing how observant he could be, in the sweetest way.

and they're a perfect fit, of course.

[cassafrassie]

stage kisses - (also on ao3) length: 3,311 words rating: T (teenaged kissing)

A thin layer of pristine, fresh snow coats Gravity Falls’ Main Street. Multi-colored string lights twinkle through the layer of ice adorning the eaves of the downtown shops and businesses.

Dipper relishes in being able to be present for it. Though he’s spent the last three summers in Gravity Falls, it’s the first time he’s been able to be here for Winter break, and something about the icy chill punctured through with the warmth of sugar cookies, roaring fires and cozy blankets has his heart feeling full.

Even if he is currently acting as courier for the approximately three hundred shopping bags that his petite female friend and current shopping companion has loaded into his arms.

He hadn’t been paying super close attention to what Pacifica had been purchasing as she shuffled him from store to store. He was just grateful she offered to help him with his last minute gifts. He was happy to sit back and watch her work her magic as she examined treasure after treasure and piece of junk after piece of junk. He had to hand it to her— she had a knack for picking out practical yet thoughtful presents.  A classy cashmere sweater for Mabel from her. A set of new knitting needles for Mabel from him. Some crystal decanter for her parents from her. A new gaming console for Soos that Dipper had said was too expensive, but she insisted that it could be a group gift from him, Mabel, Wendy and herself, which made it okay.

And now he bears the burden of the fruit of their labor as he trudges down the street and she walks lightly next to him, floating forward and swinging her handbag without another item to trouble her or weigh her down.

Dipper glances down at one of the bags and notices a thick purple coat peeking out from neatly folded tissue paper.

“Hey, I don’t remember this one. Who’s the jacket for?”

“Oh,” Pacifica starts, waving her hand casually. “I might have gotten myself an early Christmas present too.”

“And you’ve saddled it on me?”

“Of course. I’m a lady, Dipper. I can’t be expected to do my own manual labor!” She says in faux shock.

“Oh but of course, Your Highness, my deepest apologies! Allow me to be at your service, please.”

“That’s better. Know your place, Pines.”

“I live to protect you from the horrors of the peasant life.”

“My hero,” Pacifica says, bumping into him with her hip.

They both laugh, their voices carrying down the cheerful street as they round the corner and head from the shopping district in the direction of bus stop.

The two walk in companionable silence, and Dipper contemplates how nice it would be if they could do this everyday. Just spend time together, be silly, not have to worry about school or grades or the future.

Pacifica seems lost in thought as well, and before long she begins twisting her hair in a manner that Dipper has begun to associate with her weighing her options in some situation or another. It’s something he admires about her. She’s not cold, not anymore, but she’s retained some her of calculated approach toward decision-making. Some would call it shrewd, but Dipper thinks of it as astute, and it’s a refreshing balance to many of the more impulsively-minded loved ones in his life.

“So… I got the lead in the spring play at school,” she says abruptly, somewhat out of the blue.

“Oh whoa!” Dipper tires to turn to her but is hindered by the shopping bags. “That’s awesome, Cif! You’re gonna kill it.”

Dipper knows that Pacifica has been involved in both her school’s straight plays and musicals the last two years. The only downer is that he hasn’t been able to see her perform live yet. She sent him some random parent’s recording of her belting out “Anything Goes” while dressed in an adorable little sailor costume (that dress made it into a few dreams he would prefer not to examine too closely, as a matter of fact), and another of her tap dancing up a storm dressed as a 1960s-style secretary of all things, but that’s as close as he’s been able to make it.

Maybe if his parents will let him miss a day or two of school he can go to this one. They know how close the two of them have gotten, and they also know that Pacifica doesn’t have many good friends since turning her back on a lot of the society functions her parents forced her in to.

And he’s her best friend. He needs to make it happen. He’s calculating how best to approach the subject with his parents, but his thoughts are interrupted when she keeps talking.

“We’re doing Romeo and Juliet,” she says, and there’s a strange, hesitant tone in her voice.

Looking over, he sees that she’s looking at the ground and still twisting a lock of hair around in her hands. It’s a little weird, he thinks. She’s usually a lot more confident about these types of things, but she’s acting almost… shy. That’s not Pacifica.

He figures a little playful ribbing is in order.

“Oh wow, Shakespeare, huh? So fancy.” He nudges her side with his elbow. “Look at you, Little Miss Private School.”

Pacifica smiles but says nothing. She still won’t meet his eyes.

Then it hits him.

Romeo and Juliet. The lead. Juliet. Romeo. Romeo and Juliet.

He almost drops one of their shopping bags.

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

Dipper struggles to gather his thoughts, tries to come off casual. “That’s like, a romance, then… huh?”

Pacifica blushes. “I mean technically it’s a tragedy, in strict literary terms, but yeah, there’s… romance.” She chuckles nervously. “Like, obviously. It’s like the romance play, right?”

Dipper kicks at a clump of snow, tries very hard to keep his voice light. “So… there’s… kissing involved in that then… yeah?”

Pacifica looks at her feet. “A bit, yeah,” she confirms. She points to a bench in the park they’re passing. Lush evergreens dusted with snow almost obscure it from the street. “Wanna sit?”

Dipper nods absentmindedly, and he lets her guide him to sit on the frosted metal bench. She takes some of the the bags from him and sets them aside. He drops the rest near his feet.

Kissing. Why does this feel weird? Why doesn’t he like it? Why did Pacifica seem nervous to talk about it? Why does it feel like he kind of wants to immediately find out who has been cast as Romeo and look them up on social media and maybe find out where they live and maybe just maybe make sure they get strep or mono or anything to stop—

He shakes his head lightly, centering himself.

“Is that… weird?” he finally asks.

“Well,” Pacifica tucks a stand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve had to do a small handful kissing scenes before, so it’s not a massive deal, really.”

His stomach feels like it drops through his body to the cold icy ground beneath them.

“Oh, you have?” He cringes at the way his voice cracks.

“Well not real kisses!” Pacifica says, hurriedly. “Just, like, stage kisses, you know.”

“Stage kisses,” Dipper echos blankly.

“Yeah, like, you hold your hands on their face in a way that to the audience it looks like you’re kissing, but your lips aren’t actually touching.”

Dipper feels his heartbeat begin to settle just a bit, but doesn’t have time to examine why that is, because there are far more pressing issues at hand. First and foremost is what the heck is a stage kiss and how many times has she done this and with who and when and where and—

“Oh… huh,” he says. “How does it… work?”

Pacifica looks down, suddenly fascinated with a loose thread on her mittens. She twists it in between the the pointer finger and thumb on her other hand.

“I could show you,” she says, finally.

Dipper feels his face warm, but all he’s aware of in his brain is an immediate, pervasive thought of yes yes absolutely I would love to learn right now, right here, with you, yes.

He swallows.

“Like…?” He gestures vaguely at his face, questioning.

“Yeah,” Pacifica giggles lightly, and he can tell she’s nervous. Why is she nervous? She’s turning to face him and she has a tiny, sweet smile tugging at her lips. “If you wanted?”

“Yeah,” he says before he’s fully thought it through. “I mean, sure, yeah. That would… that could be cool.”

“Okay,” Pacifica begins, taking her mittens off before shifting fully to face him. Her shy smile broadens ever so slightly when he meets her eyes. Dipper notices her cheeks are slightly pinker than they were earlier, which is weird because they’ve been in the same cold for the last half hour at least. “Just stay still.”

Dipper nods, having not a clue about what is about to happen, but also so aware that he is powerless to stop it, and there isn’t a bone in his body that wants to try.

Pacifica lays her mittens carefully next to her, then delicately brings both bare hands up to Dipper’s face, letting her fingers cup his cheeks while her thumbs move to rest vertically over his lips, parallel to one another.

“Ready?” She asks, cheeks growing pinker by the second.

Dipper just nods again once, wide eyes fixed on hers.

“Okay,” she continues. “Here goes.”

And then she’s closing her eyes and leaning in. And Dipper doesn’t close his eyes at first because he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to, so he watches as her face gets closer. Her lips are relaxed but not puckered like he thinks they’re supposed to be for a normal kiss. Which is good because now he knows he shouldn’t pucker his own in return, even though he can feel them twitch instinctively against her delicate thumbs. When she’s less than an inch from his face, his eyes close of their own volition, and he’s only aware of her warm hands. So soft, and trembling just the tiniest bit, he thinks. But it must just be the cold.

He feels the slight pressure on his face when her lips meets the back of her hands, but that’s it. And then it’s over, and she’s pulling back and drawing her hands away, and his eyes are opening to meet hers, and he feels confusingly bereft. Like it should have been more.

“See?” she says. “Barely feels like a kiss, but looks real from the outside.”

Dipper is still gathering his thoughts. For some reason, his instinct is to ask her to do it again. It was too fast, I didn’t remember it well enough.

“That was quick.” He says, bluntly, honestly. His brain hasn’t quite caught up with his words. “What if it needs to be longer?”

“Well, you just do it for longer then, I think,” Pacifica giggles a bit.

“But doesn’t it get weird, if every kiss in the play has people putting their hands on each other’s faces?”

Dipper hasn’t the slightest clue why this matters to him so much. He hasn’t had any personal interest in theater since Mabel’s ill-fated sock opera, but for some reason, learning the ins and outs and nitty-gritty details of stage kissing suddenly seems completely essential.

“Well, yeah, I mean there are other… methods, too.”

“Oh?” Dipper asks, not really trying to hide his interest anymore.

Pacifica nods, not breaking her eye contact. “Want me to…?”

“Sure.”

He watches her take an almost imperceptible inhale.

“Okay, so if we were looking for more of a dramatic kiss— like maybe one where you needed your hands to be wrapped around the other person—“ She moves her hands up over his shoulders and around the back of his neck, and his own instinctively move to her waist “—you could basically just move your body so that the audience can’t see your faces exactly—“ She leans in closer, eyes fluttering this close to closed, and his own do the same “—and then just kiss each other’s cheeks, like close but not quite…”

Her voice quiets and trails off, and then he can feel her lips press just to the left of his-- on his cheek, but so so close to his lips that he’s sure he can feel just the barest graze on them, just at the corner of his mouth. He feels a pang of longing low in his stomach.

She doesn’t pull away so fast this time. Instead, her fingers tighten just so in his hair, and he feels the delicate pressure of her lips grow ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth. His own hands tighten at her waist, and it’s wonderful and terrible at the same time, because he can feel her closeness, her softness, can smell that lovely lavender shampoo she uses, can relish in being so near to her. It’s everything a kiss should be but just misses the mark because his lips rest just about two inches to the right of where every instinct tells him they should be.

But that’s not right, is it? An anxious part of his mind chimes in. Pacifica is his friend. She’s always been his friend. Since when does he want to kiss her?

I mean sure, he has eyes, he knows she’s beautiful. And he likes her laugh, and her wit, and the way she pokes his buttons just right. And maybe he feels happier when she’s around; whatever. And yeah when that guy asked for her number last summer while she was spending time with him during his shift at the Shack’s gift shop he got a bit annoyed, but that was because that guy was a creep and clearly not right for her and how dare he anyway when she was obviously there to spend time with him.

Dipper freezes.

Maybe… maybe he’s been kidding himself just a bit.

Pacifica seems to notice his sudden stiffness, because out of nowhere and far too soon she’s untangling her hands from the hair at the nape of his neck and pulling away with a nervous chuckle.

“Well… yeah, that’s all I really know how to do,” she says, grabbing her mittens and turning then over in her hand. Dipper notices that somehow her face is even pinker than before, and the instinct to reach out and brush his finger tips over her charmingly flushed cheeks is almost unbearable.

There’s still a question nagging in his mind. And he isn’t even fully aware of what it is, but the instinct to learn more about all this theatrical kissing business tugs at him still.

“What if, um… well what if the audience would be able to tell that it’s not real?”

“Hm?” She looks up, one eyebrow raised.

“I mean, would the director ever want you to… do it for real?” He swallows, steeling himself. “Like, a real kiss?”

“Oh!” Her eyes dart away again. “Gosh, well, I hope not.” He watches as she sucks in a breath, then brings her eyes back to his, and there’s a new sparkle behind them, filled with intent. “I wouldn’t want my first kiss to be on stage, you know?”

There it is. That’s it. That’s answer his subconscious has been looking for.

She’s never kissed someone before. Not for real.

Something about this knowledge crystalizes it all for him in his brain. It’s like the first time he tried on his new prescription glasses. He’d never known the world was so sharp and clear.

And he feels that here now also. Yes, he wants to kiss her. He wants to be her first kiss, especially. And if the way she is looking at him now is any indication— with hooded eyes and dark pupils peeking out from under her fluffy bangs, lips curved upward in a sweet gentle smile— she wants him to be it too.

She casually reaches over, starts idly playing with the hem of his coat sleeve.

Suddenly, his path forward has never been more obvious. How did he not see it before?

“Have you… given much thought as to where you would like it to be?” he asks.

“Mm. Not so much as to the where, no.”

The emphasis she adds signals to him that she’s hinting at something. She wants him to keep fishing, and he’s only too happy to oblige.

“I see…” he begins, recklessly draping his arm on the back of the bench, behind her shoulders. “So, any thought as to the when, then?”

“Only in passing…” she leans back into his arm and relaxes into him.

“The why?”

Pacifica giggles. “Well, hopefully because he wants to do it as much as I do.”

“So there’s a who, then.” Dipper grins.

Pacifica just blushes deeper and nods.

Dipper shifts on the bench to face her on more directly, letting the arm around the back of the bench seat fall down around at her shoulders, his other hand moving forward to brush his fingers over the top of her still bare knuckles.

He leans in just so. Swallows as he prepares himself to do one of the bravest and frankly most terrifying things he’s ever done. But he’s determined to see it through.

“How about, in a park, late winter afternoon, me, because I really, really want to? Possibly even more than you do.”

Pacifica’s eyes flutter shut as she tilts her face up toward him.

“Perfect.”

Dipper feels his stomach flip and he shuts his own eyes and closes the gap between them. And the second he feels his lips lightly press on hers, he knows this is what was supposed to happen. He can’t kid himself anymore, and thankfully he doesn’t have to. There’s no fear of getting hurt. No more denial in order to protect his heart. Because she’s here, wrapped in his arms and kissing him back. He's aware of the slight flavor of her cherry lipgloss, and again of her flowery shampoo. His heart swells.

The kiss is lingering but light.  Dipper brings his hand up to tuck some hair behind her ear, and then lets it rest lightly on her cheek. Pacifica smiles against his lips and lets out a faint hum before unhurriedly, gently pulling back.

His eyes slowly open and he see hers do the same. He watches her eyes dart between the two of his, and in an instant and without warning she’s grabbing the front of his coat and pulling him back down to her for a quick but far more forceful second kiss.

A heartbeat later she releases his lapels and abruptly stands, grinning as she tugs on her mittens.

Dipper watches her helplessly, and he knows she’s committing to memory the dopey, lovestruck look on his face, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Well we better get heading back to the Shack. These gifts aren’t going to wrap themselves!” she says with a wink.

She picks up some of the shopping bags.

“Not above manual labor now, princess?” Dipper remarks, rising and taking the rest in his left hand, head still spinning a little.

She grins and shifts the bags she holds to her right, reaches out to grasp his free hand with hers.

“What can I say, you’re turning me into a woman of the people.”

Dipper warms at the sensation of her small, mittened hand tucked snugly in his.

“So…” he starts, after a peaceful few minutes of the two of them enjoying their new, sweet intimacy. “I could… help you rehearse, if you want. Certain scenes anyway,” he adds with a crooked smile.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Pacifica giggles. “But let’s make sure to change the ending when we do. I think we can do better.”

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

💎 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Courier’s Cap
Wondrous item, rare (requires attunement) ___ This tan bag cap bears a wax seal on its side and is stamped with a variety of messengers’ markings. While wearing the hat, your walking speed is increased by 5 feet. Within the hat is a special demiplane that can hold up to 100 letters, written notes, or similar mundane sheets of paper. You can use an action to reach into the hat and pull out a sheet you choose. If the hat is punctured or torn, the sheets of paper spill out in a pile within 5 feet of the hat. The hat has 3 charges and regains all expended charges daily at dawn. While wearing the hat, you can use an action to expend some of its charges to cast one of the following spells from it: “message” (0 charges, or 1 charge to cast the alternate version detailed below) or “sending” (2 charges). If there’s space within the demiplane, any message sent by either spell is automatically recorded on a mundane scrap of paper, torn to the size of the message, and stored within the hat. If you expend 1 charge to cast the “message” spell from the hat, the message you send as part of the spell materializes in front of you as a folded letter, complete with the message inside of it. The message is written in your handwriting. The letter then flies through the air towards the target, which can be up to 1,000 feet away from you. You don’t need to be able to see the target in order to send the message in this way, but you must either know its name or provide a general description for the flying letter. The letter flies through the air with a speed of 50 feet; it has AC 10 and 1 hit point. When the letter arrives, it lands at the target’s feet or in one of its open hands, provided it has one. “Special delivery!” ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[strangelittlestories]

In the Draco-Technocracy, most communications are sent by digital transfer or long-distance memory modification.

These methods, of course, are routinely monitored by corporations' oversight divisions (and their undersight divisions, for more hellish communiques).

However, for the enterprising anarchist, there is a way to send unmonitored mail.

There are various draconic couriers who fly across the land delivering packages, signed documents, bombs, and other corporeal deliveries. Their cargo is rigorously checked at take-off, but the security at each stop (given there are so many) is considerably lower.

So, if you are in possession of a modified rocket launcher, jury-rigged catapult, or even an enchanted heat-seeking paper aeroplane ... you can perhaps sneak a message into the courier's delivery bag.

You have to hand it to the punks, rebels and grifters who pioneered this method; it is one of my favourite hacks (and, if you're posting fanfiction, it's also one of my favourite slashes).

This method has, of course, been dubbed: the surface-to-air missive.

[omflex]

As businesses strive to reduce their carbon footprint and adopt sustainable practices, the need for alternatives to traditional plastic packaging has become imperative. Enter Omflex, the pioneering paper courier bags manufacturers, leading the charge towards a greener future.

[allindiaevent]

Best Practices for Sealing Paper Courier Bags to Ensure Product Integrity

In the world of shipping and logistics, preserving the integrity of products throughout transit is critical. Paper courier bags have evolved as a more ecological alternative to typical plastic packaging. However, the efficacy of paper courier bags is dependent on the integrity of their seals. This article discusses the best procedures for sealing paper courier bags to protect product integrity…

[razorblade180]

Profits!!!

Paimon:We got a fresh batch of potions ready!

Aether:*writing* Put them front and center!

Jean: *walks up* Ummmm

Aether:Hmm? Oh hi! I was wondering if I’d see you.

Jean:Hello. Hard at work I see. *looks around* By a lot…. I just got a report back from Lisa. I knew things were in good hands but can you explain how this gateway into common alchemy is profiting five times its worth? Every time you come to town our budget increases.

Aether:Yeah I think I finally got a formula for success here! It’s all about where we send them. *shows paper* Sales to Mondstadt get the standard cost that breaks even considering how close clients are and the frequency.

Jean:We are selling them .25% under their actual value in Inazuma?

Aether:Inazuma’s are hesitant about trying things out of traditional practices plus the long trip there may reduce potency. However, we don’t really take a loss because I have them delivered by a reliable courier who gives us discount, as well as have them get shipped by a friend named Itto. He’s actually pretty used to the back and forth.

Jean:If that’s the logic, how are we getting away with selling the potions 1.5 times their price in Liyue? They also care about traditions.

Aether:Because Ningguang agreed to endorse us, and Beidou deliverers the shipments. Those are the only seals of approval we need.

Jean:*looks at Lisa*

Lisa:I didn’t tell him to expand. Our cutie has such an eye for business that even Master Diluc went in on a joint business venture.

Jean:*skims paper* We mark up the Sumeru prices by 2.5 times their actual value!?

Aether:I know that might look evil buuuuut *flips page* 80% of the stock that goes there by a merchant named Dori who’s incredibly rich. I’m positive she’s buying them to sell for at least triple their original worth. In the grand scheme we’re getting a bigger net gain than she is on paper but she’s also winning by knowing who and where to sell to. Also desert shipments are handled by a very trustworthy Mercenary.

Jean:And as for Fontaine being double the market price?

Aether:Mondstadt’s potions are approved by Furina de Fontaine. Not only does that attract the high society over there to buy, but it covers the for transport via Gaming as well as the transfer support from the Spina. Don’t worry, I made sure everything is perfectly legal.

Jean:(This is the market project all over again.) Aether, you didn’t have to start an empire, like…at all.

Aerther:I didn’t mean to do it. I just know people.

Paimon: *holds mora bags* Powerful people!

Jean:Well, I leave it all to you then. To think I’m able to redo our budget so freely is like a fever dream. Perhaps the extra funds can go into better training equipment and armor overhaul?

Kaeya:Or we can buy more horses. Just a thought.

Lisa:Do you miss your work that much?

Kaeya:I miss the title speaking for itself.

[global-parachem]

Global Parachem LLP is a leading Indian flexible packaging company based in Uttar Pradesh's Noida and Ghaziabad in New Delhi NCR. 

[jennamacaroni]

Deborah is always giving things to people, and people think because she is very rich and very capable, she doesn't need anyone to give things to her. But Ava gives her something. [you take over from here]

its been two and half years that i've been ruminating on this prompt and never have been able to figure out what this gift could be. this morning i finally found my answer. thank you for sending this prompt which i'm sure at this point you've long forgotten about <3 love u

The package arrives by courier the same evening that Deborah learns ‘My Bad’ is going to network television.  After an obscene bidding war, the purchase price from NBC Universal’s deal will be more revenue for Deborah than all 2,500 Palmetto residency shows combined.  It also happens that NBC has the Super Bowl next February, and network executives pitched the big game to Deborah’s team as the perfect lead-in to maximize viewership.

That’s how big Deborah Vance is in popular culture these days.  Big enough to follow up the most-watched television program of the year.

It’s kind of stunning, Deborah thinks, as Marcus offers her the iPad with the contract pulled up, ready for her signature.  Maybe in her wildest dreams she imagined this level of fame and brand recognition, but it was never all that realistic.  Especially not at her age.  It was impressive enough to sustain her Vegas residency as long as she did in a culture where even the most prolific actors are put out to pasture after age forty.  But here she is, about to sign the biggest deal of her career, north of seventy years old.

Josefina interrupts them before she has the chance to sign, knocking softly on the doorframe to Deborah’s office, holding a small package wrapped in a recycled paper grocery bag.  “Sorry to interrupt, Deborah, but this was just delivered.”

Deborah waves her off.  “Leave it in the kitchen, I’ll get to it later.”

Josefina turns to follow Deborah’s instructions, but something changes her mind.  She hovers instead in the entry to the office, a strange look on her face.

“What is it?” Deborah asks, studying Josefina’s frown, mind going back to Ava hovering in a similar doorway holding the envelope from Kathy back after Frank died.  She shakes the memory away and stands, holding out her hand and beckoning Josefina forward and to get on with it.  She thought this was finally over, that after nearly hitting her with the Rolls Kathy would have gotten the goddamn message.

Josefina enters but stops short of handing it over.  She looks Deborah clear in the eye and says, “It’s from Ava.”

Ah.

Deborah isn’t sure if anyone on her staff is still in contact with her ex-writing partner, but it’s been six months since Deborah fired her on that Hollywood rooftop.

First came the denial:  Ava teary eyed on a night that she should have been celebrating, not believing Deborah’s words.  I can do three months severance and extend your health insurance for six.  Then came the anger, weeks of indignant and resentful texts and voice messages, Ava at her worst poking at every tender part of Deborah she knew, which is just about all of them.  Deborah never once wrote back.  Then bargaining for her job back, even when Deborah knew she was doing just fine writing for television back in LA, that she was even becoming pretty successful.  Then came the weeks where Deborah heard nothing at all, Ava’s messages stopping completely, no updates on any of her social media that Deborah most definitely didn’t keep checking, just to make sure.  Ava’s name in the credits became the only way Deborah knew she was still out there, still okay, still working.

Deborah clears her throat, swallowing down the acute tightening, ignoring the quickening of her heart rate.

“I’ll take it,” she says, curtly, “give me a minute.”

“I already opened the champagne Jimmy sent,” Josefina explains, handing Deborah the box across the desk.  This was a night for celebration, but Deborah suddenly feels like anything but.

“I said, give me a minute,” she snaps, more forceful this time.  Her tone clearly hits the mark because Josefina and Marcus share a knowing look before seeing themselves out.  The contract, Jimmy, the champagne, it can all wait.

She sits back in the opulent wing-backed chair and lets out a long exhale, holding the small wrapped package and measuring its weight.  There’s not much to it really, just wrinkled paper, crooked lines of clear packing tape, and Ava’s chicken scratch with her name and address.

She unwraps it carefully, like she’s afraid of what might be inside.  There’s a plain white envelope with Deborah’s name written small in the center and a box for a pair of noise canceling headphones.  She slips her finger under the seam of the envelope, tearing it open.  A piece of note paper is tri-folded inside, Ava Daniels in neat block printing stamped along the top of the personalized stationery.  Deborah chuckles, thinking Ava has come so far from writing solely on post-its.  The note is simple, Ava’s messy handwriting in black ink in the center of the page:

For your collection. - Ava

Deborah opens the box but there are no headphones inside, only a bunch of balled up paper surrounding an oblong taped up ball of bubble wrap.  Contained within are two ceramic figures, an unlikely pair:  it’s quintessential Deborah in her favorite updo wig, a pants suit dusted in golden glitter, complete with golden high heels and microphone in hand.  The other is a slightly shorter and paler figure with short auburn hair, striped t-shirt, high waisted jeans, and thick black Doc Marten boots.  The tiny Ava is holding a small black notebook.  They’re both laughing, and if placed side by side, the salt and pepper shakers turn slightly into one another, like they’re leaning in and sharing a raucous joke.

Deborah tears up, staring down at them centered on the desktop, Ava the pepper to her salt.  The other half of her pair.  She misses her desperately then, and if she’s serious with herself, has been for the past half of a year, never letting herself truly sit in those feelings until now.

She picks up her phone, squints at the screen through tears, and pulls up Ava’s contact.  Before she knows what she’s doing, Deborah hits the call button.

The phone rings twice, then is sent to voicemail.

The recorded message says, “It’s Ava, drop it like it’s hot.”

Deborah clears her throat.  She has no idea what she even wants to say.  I miss you.  I’m living my dream, I’m famous as hell, about to be more rich than ever, but I’m not happy.  Not without you.  Please come back.  None of it is worth it without you.

But that would be selfish.  Ava is doing fine, thriving even, without Deborah.  She needs to let her be.  Instead, she says, “Hey, it’s um, it’s me.  I got your package.”  She sniffles, swallowing tears.  “They’re perfect.  Thank you.”

She hangs up.

After her hands stop shaking and she’s gathered herself, Deborah carries the shakers to the wall of china cabinets where her collection is fully lit and on display.  She makes room right in the center one at eye-level and sets them together, close enough to touch, their heads leaning into one another.

A few moments later Deborah signs the contract and the house celebrates, Jimmy toasting Deborah and her accomplishments over the phone to a bottle of Dom Perignon, a vintage for 1976, the very year Deborah filmed the late night pilot and ended up starting her stand up career.

If anyone notices the new addition to the salt and pepper shaker collection, no one mentions it.

[cloudlessly-light]

Request: Just some good old fashioned hotchniss 69ing…would be fab

A/N: This is a new multi chapter that has a little bit of plot but will have smut based on some of the asks you have sent in. I hope you enjoy our favorite idiots in love being filthy with each other!  

Title: Seems you cannot be replaced (Chapter 1/7)   Summary: It shouldn’t have happened, but they were drunk. It shouldn’t have happened but it felt right. It shouldn’t have happened but now it has. It shouldn’t have happened and now they have to deal with it.

Or, Emily always leaves before he wakes up, but she always leaves a note. Word Count: 2,9k Rating: Explicit Warnings (for this chapter): Smut, oral, 69ing, consumption of alcohol Overall warnings: feelings, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, dirty talk, oral sex, sexting, consumtion of alcohol, porn porn porn, will probably add onto the warnings list as I go

She first noticed how different Aaron was from Hotch that first super bowl weekend she spent with the team out at a bar. He was more relaxed, joking and teasing as Haley sat beside him. They seemed happy, almost oblivious to the outside world as he dragged her onto the makeshift dance floor next to Derek.

But there was something about the way Haley’s eyes were lazed with a silent panic, something about the way Aaron was touching her in a way that seemed almost desperate that makes Emily take pause.

She finds out later that their marriage is strained, that Haley always felt like his second choice and the guilt Aaron felt was never-ending.

When he’s served divorce papers, Emily almost finds it cruel, the way the legal courier shows up at the office, in front of everyone. She thinks that Haley could have just given them to him herself, behind closed doors. But this way the hurt is worse for him and she realizes that it’s what Haley had wanted, some type of revenge for choosing strangers in need before herself and their child.

And Emily wonders why something in her chest clenches achingly at the empty look in his eyes as he leaves them with the papers in hand.

He doesn’t mention it in front of her, doesn’t talk about it with anybody except Dave. But then he comes back with Spencer after the disastrous interview with Chester Hardwick and she sees the signed divorce papers on his desk that same day. He catches her eyes on the papers but doesn’t say anything, so she doesn’t either, just leaves the files in her hand silently on his desk.

When she gets home that night something feels off, something nagging at her. He always checks in with them when he notices if something is wrong with them, she wonders if anybody checks in on him.

She sends him a text before she can talk herself out of it.

Emily: Are you okay?

The ding of an incoming text comes just after she had ordered dinner for herself and had changed into a pair of tights and a loose shirt.

Aaron: It’s been a long day.

For a moment she wonders if that’s his way of politely telling her mind her own business and stay out of his private life, but she had never been one for beating around the bush.

Emily: Do you want to talk about it?

To her surprise, he texts her back instantly, and in that one word their relationship changed forever.

Aaron: Yes.

She quickly called the restaurant back and changed her order for two and grabbed her bag.

Emily: I’ll be at yours in 20.

*

“In the end, I just wasn’t enough. I don’t blame her.” He says as he sits on the couch that still smells new. His eyes are closed, head leaning back against the backrest, the scotch forgotten in front of him on the coffee table. He’s had too many, she has too and somewhere in the back of his mind he makes a note to make sure to call her a cab later.

“I do.” She says bluntly and Aaron looks at her with a mix of amusement and irritation and she marvels how he manages to look both at the same time. But the corner of his mouth was quivering upwards, while his eyebrows remained furrowed in what she once thought was a permanent frown. “I don’t mean that I don’t understand her side of it, I do. But thanks to you, horrible people are behind bars and innocent lives have been saved.”

“She knows that. But she got tired of feeling like I always put you before her.”

“Me?” Her eyes snaps to his and he’s immediately tenses, even through the slight blurriness of alcohol and defeat.

“The team.” The correction makes her exhale softly but his eyes stay on hers and she has trouble looking away.

“Of course.”

The room goes silent, tension suddenly thick and awkward as they continue to look at each other. Emily could feel the way he was studying her intensely and she felt a tingle creep down her spine in response.

“Prentiss?” He says and his voice is suddenly breathier, lower and the sound makes a dull ache settle between her thighs. The way his eyes move over her body quickly is almost undetectable, but she catches it and it makes her swallow hard, her throat suddenly dry.

“Hotch?” She questions and this time the smile he had forced away appears on his face.

“Thank you for coming over.” His warm hand lands on her shoulder and she thinks that this is the first time he’s touched her purposefully.

“Not a problem.” She tries to keep the very inappropriate thoughts away, hopes that he doesn’t notice the way her cheeks heat or the way her pulse quickens. She swallows down the rest of her own liquor, the burn of it no longer present but the warmth of it still fills her belly in a pleasant way. When she stands up a few moments later, he’s quick to stand too. “I should get going.” She mumbles, the flush still on her cheeks and eyes now anywhere but near him.

Aaron follows her as she heads to the door to grab her jacket.

“I’ll call you a cab.” He says and she nods in agreement.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Whatever she had expected in that moment, it was not Aaron leaning forward to open the door, just as she turned, causing her to knock into his chest and his hands grabbed onto her waist to steady her.

“Sorry.” He muttered, face so close to hers that his breath fell against her cheek.

“It’s okay.” It came out breathy, and she felt his fingers dig into her for a second. Her eyes flitted from his down to his mouth and then up again. His pupils were dilated, his hands not letting go of her. It was wrong, she knew that, he knew that. Later she would blame the alcohol for what happened between them, but right then she didn’t want to leave, didn’t want him to let go. “Hotch, I-”

Whatever else she was going to say was cut off by his lips on hers, soft, but determined as he kissed her. The soft sound of surprise that leaves her, is swallowed up by him as one of his hands move from her waist to the back of her neck, keeping her close and not breaking the kiss.

They shouldn’t do this, this was the worst thing they could do, but the thought disappears the moment he presses her back against the door, his thigh in between hers and pushing against her. The happy murmur that escapes him when he feels the heat of her is low and dark and she immediately feels the need to hear it again. She moves a hand under his shirt, feels the warmth of his back against the palm of her hand and when her short nails dig into him he groans again and Emily know that any logic and reason is gone.

When they break apart they’re panting, lips swollen and eyes heated and Emily only nods quickly before he’s picking her up with impressive ease. His hands are huge, she thinks as he grabs her ass and her legs wrap around his waist and he walks them towards his bedroom. His lips are soft, his stubble rough, as he kisses down her neck and the mix of sensations makes her mewl and pull on his shirt greedily.

Before she actually gets the shirt off him, he’s throwing her on the bed, a smug grin on his face when she yelps in surprise and she laughs breathlessly in return.

“Come here.” She beckons him and pulls her shirt off. By the time it lands on the floor Aaron is kneeling between her legs, his hands on her hips and eyes dark as he starts to pull her tights down her legs. She lifts her hips enough for him to get them off her and when he looks down at her in just her underwear she feels self-conscious for a moment.

“Gorgeous.” He says like he can read her mind. “Fucking perfect.” The words are growled against her lips before he kisses her again, his tongue pushing past her lips and taking control and she lets him. His hips press against hers, and she feels the bulge of him through his pants and her hips rocks into his with a gasp.

“How come I’m almost naked and you’re still fully dressed?” She whispers when he pulls back to kiss down her neck again. The low hum vibrates against her pulse as he smile’s against her skin.

“That’s a very good question.” He gets up on his knees again and pulls his shirt off and she feels her mouth water at the sight of him. He looks powerful, subtle muscle under soft skin, the fine hairs on his chest that trail down to where his pants are still on, hiding his erection from her but there’s no mistaking the outline of him beneath the dark fabric, hard, huge. When he palms his erection over his pants she licks her lips and his eyes flash with want. His pants soon join the shirt on the floor and while Emily gets her bra off he’s kicking away his boxers and then tugs her panties down.

She’s just about to pull him down to her when he lays down beside her.

“Sit on my face.” His voice is thick with need, his fingers trembling when he reaches for her.

“What?” She freezes for a moment but the flush on her cheeks is instant.

“Sit on my face.” He says it again with a smirk and in the corner of her eye she sees his cock twitch as it lays on his stomach, thick and heavy. She knows that this is his own way of taking some of the control he’s felt like he’s lost the last couple of months back. When she nods the look on his face turns close to wild, and his tongue darts out to lick over his bottom lip.

She’s careful as she straddles his face but he’s quick to pull her down, his arms strong as he grabs her thighs. The first swipe of his tongue is agonizingly slow, starting from her clit and moving through her lips until he can push his tongue deep inside of her. She moans and her hips move against his face in response and she hears him hum in satisfaction before doing it again, just as slowly.

Emily hadn’t realized just how wound up she had been until she felt his tongue against her wet flesh, teasing as he flicks her clit quickly with the tip of his tongue and then delves it inside of her again and again and again.

“Hotch, fuck I-” The feeling of his lips suddenly around her clit makes her hips jerk and she falls forward, barely catching herself with one hand on his hip and the other on the bed. “Jesus Christ.” She gasps, eyes closed tight as he sucks greedily, fingers gripping hard to keep her in place. When she opens her eyes she quickly sees his cock, swollen and leaking and she takes him in her mouth without warning.

“Fuck!” He hisses at the sudden pleasure, the heat of her mouth something he hadn’t expected. Her tongue is soft but wicked as she licks around him, tasting the precum with a moan and then pushing further down until he feels her throat contract and she pulls back. It takes him another few seconds before he’s able to focus on her again and Emily feels smug as she swallows around him. Then his hold on her tightens again and his mouth is back on her. It’s obvious that he’s done teasing as he licks over her clit with a broad tongue and not long after she feels two of his thick fingers press inside of her.

She moans, the sound muffled around his shaft as she continues to suck and lick everywhere she can reach, trying to give as good as she’s getting. The groans from him spurs her on, makes her bop her head in time with his pumping fingers. When the hand still on her hip tightens enough to bruise she sucks in a breath, the slight pain only blurring into pleasure when he sucks her clit.

“I-I’m close.” She pulls off him to pant out, breathy moans falling from her as she uses her hand to jerk him.

“Good.” He grunts quickly before licking quickly over her clit and curling his fingers against her, making her hips twitch.

Emily licks over the tip of him, swallows down the salty taste of him before taking the head between her lips. Her tongue runs across it and around it and he jerks up against her, so she does it again, licks and sucks a little harder, pumps his base with her hand and she feels his thighs tensing.

Like it’s a contest he refuses to lose, he’s dragging the pleasure from her body with sure movements. He grazes her teeth against her clit and then sucks it between his lips just as fingers push a little harder into her and then she’s coming with a muffled cry.

Her hips grind into his face as her body trembles in pleasure and Aaron keeps going, even when she’s sure her movements must make it impossible for him to breathe. His cock is still in her mouth, her moans vibrating against his shaft. Somehow she’s still lazily pumping him and he’s so close that the moment Emily’s come down from her high and sucks the tip of him he groans and tenses.

“Fuck, stop I’m going to-”

The flick of her tongue and the twist of her hand is enough to make him come, his orgasm intense as he shudders underneath her. Through blurry pleasure he feels her swallow down his release, her hand not stopping as she drags pleasure from his body. She continues until he’s oversensitive and he rolls her off him with a breathless laugh.

“Shit that was intense.” He chuckles as she joins him as she sits up beside him.

“It was great.” She grins and runs her hair through her messy hair.

“But,” his eyes move over her naked body, another surge of arousal already settling low in his stomach. “I had every intention of fucking you.”

“And what are we going to do about that?” Her eyebrow arches and her teeth dig into her bottom lip to keep her smile at bay. His hands are on her within seconds, pulling her down and hovering above her as she laughs again.

“I guess you’re going to have to come on my fingers until I’m hard again.”

She whimpers when two fingers press back inside of her, twisting and pulling and his smirk deepens. Emily hadn’t thought that he’d be like this and even though she didn’t want to admit to it, she had wondered what he was like in bed. But whatever she had thought it wasn’t this. She secretly wondered if it was because they had been drinking, that he felt free enough to be this carefree and self-assured because of lowered inhibitions. But she couldn’t think about it, not when his palm pressed against her already swollen clit and his mouth was around a nipple, sucking just enough to make her back arch into him.

“Don’t stop.” She whimpered and he let go of her breast.

“That’s it, squeeze my fingers just like that.” He continued to whisper dirty words against her ear until she was straining and her fingers were gripping the sheets in tight fists. When she comes again he mutters words of encouragement that she just barely hears over the ringing in her ears.

She’s panting and sweaty by the time he turns her around on all fours and enters her with a grunt that’s just as loud as her moan. They fuck in the way Emily loves and the way she’s pretty sure Aaron hasn’t for years. Hands are heavy and grabbing, bodies twisting and straining in pleasure, lips searching and tongues tasting.

By the time Aaron comes inside of her, she’s exhausted, muscles burning and brain foggy from the many orgasms he’s pulled from her like he had some secret manual to how her body works.

He pulls her against him, still panting as he settles onto his side and fits her against him. She pretends that she doesn’t know that she should leave, wants to give them both a few more minutes of this and as she feels her eyelids getting heavy she feels his breathing evening out behind her.

Aaron wakes up the next morning with the kind of headache you only get from drinking too much. His tongue feels dry in his mouth, the room spins slightly and then memories from the previous night flood his brain. His eyes land on the empty spot beside him, quickly finds the receipt from the dinner they had the night before, words scribbled on the back of it. Through blurry eyes he reaches for it reads it, not knowing if he’s relieved or not by the lack of his subordinate in his bed.

Thought it would be best if I left before you woke up – Prentiss