#Alcohol and Drug Evaluation

[aacsatlanta7]

Fast and Confidential Evaluations: Why AACS Atlanta is a Trusted Name in Georgia

Looking for a discreet and reliable evaluation service? AACS Atlanta offers quick turnaround times, complete confidentiality, and flexible scheduling to make the evaluation process as convenient as possible.

contact us for Alcohol and Drug Evaluation

[affordableevaluations]

The Importance of Following the Return to Duty Process for Career Success

In the realm of safety-sensitive professions, the integrity and reliability of each employee are critical to the organization's success and safety. Following a violation such as substance abuse, it is imperative for both the individual and the organization to adhere to a well-defined Return to Duty process. This process not only ensures the employee is ready to return to work safely but also helps maintain the trust and security of the workplace. Here, we delve into why this process is vital for career longevity and workplace safety, providing a step-by-step guide through its essential phases. Continue reading..

[alcholanddescription]

Understanding the Importance of Alcohol and Drug Evaluation

Dive into the significance of alcohol and drug evaluation in assessing substance use disorders. Learn about the process, its impact on treatment, and how it can help individuals on their journey to recovery. 

To know more visit here: https://alcoholanddrugevaluation.org/

[abetterlifetreatment]

Navigating Success: SAP Evaluation at A Better Life Treatment Center

Discover how SAP evaluation at A Better Life Treatment Center can help individuals achieve a brighter future through expert assessments and tailored support.

[alcoholanddrugevaluationga]

[sapevaluator]

Sacramento Alcohol & Drug Assessments – SAP Evaluations

Need a professional alcohol assessment in Sacramento? We provide court-ordered and DOT-mandated SAP evaluations with fast, confidential service. Our expert assessments help individuals meet legal and workplace requirements while supporting recovery and compliance. Schedule your evaluation today! visit now

[alamocenter]

Welcome to Alamo Center: Your Trusted Resource for Court-Ordered Education and Recovery Classes

At Alamo Center, we understand that life sometimes takes unexpected turns, and facing legal issues related to alcohol, drugs, or driving can be overwhelming. We’re here to support you every step of the way, providing a compassionate and professional environment where you can complete your required court-ordered classes and regain control of your life. Our wide range of programs are designed to help individuals navigate challenges, grow from their experiences, and move forward.

[brotherbob7]

Navigating the Process: Alcohol and Drug Evaluation in California

Making the decision to address issues related to alcohol and drug use is a significant step towards a healthier, more fulfilling life. In the state of California, the first crucial milestone on the path to recovery is often alcohol and drug evaluation in california. This process serves as a crucial assessment tool, helping individuals and professionals understand the extent of substance use issues and chart a course towards healing and sobriety. In this blog, we will guide you through the process of alcohol and drug evaluation in California, shedding light on its significance and what to expect.

Understanding the Purpose

Alcohol and drug evaluation in California is not meant to be punitive but rather therapeutic. It is designed to assess an individual's relationship with substances and to determine the most appropriate level of care and treatment required. The primary goals include:

Assessment: Professionals use standardised tools to assess the extent and impact of substance use on an individual's life.

Diagnosis: The evaluation helps diagnose any substance use disorders and co-occurring mental health issues.

Treatment Planning: Based on the assessment, a tailored treatment plan is developed to address the individual's specific needs and circumstances.

Legal Compliance: In some cases, such as DUI convictions, courts may require individuals to undergo an evaluation to ensure legal compliance.

The Process

Here's a general overview of what to expect during an alcohol and drug evaluation in California:

1. Standardised Assessments:

Licensed evaluators use standardised assessments, such as the Substance Abuse Subtle Screening Inventory (SASSI) or Addiction Severity Index (ASI), to gauge the severity of substance use and its impact on various life domains. These assessments help determine whether a substance use disorder is present and its severity.

2. Diagnosis:

Based on the assessment results, the evaluator will provide a diagnosis, if applicable. Substance use disorders are categorised based on severity, ranging from mild to severe. This diagnosis informs treatment planning.

3. Treatment Recommendations:

Once the evaluation is complete, the evaluator will make treatment recommendations. These recommendations may include outpatient counselling, intensive outpatient programs, residential treatment, or detoxification services, depending on the assessed need.

4. Documentation:

The evaluator will provide a report summarising the assessment findings and treatment recommendations. This report is often required for legal purposes, such as court-mandated evaluations.

Taking the Next Steps

Following the alcohol and drug evaluation in california, it's crucial to follow through with the recommended treatment plan. Treatment is a vital part of the recovery journey and provides the tools and support needed to achieve and maintain sobriety.

In California, you have access to a wide range of treatment options, including counselling, support groups, and rehabilitation centres. It's essential to work closely with treatment professionals to develop a plan tailored to your needs and goals.

Remember, seeking help for substance use issues is a courageous step towards a healthier and happier life. Alcohol and drug evaluation in California is the first step on this journey, helping you understand your challenges and paving the way for recovery.

If you or someone you know is struggling with substance use issues, don't hesitate to reach out to a licensed evaluator or treatment provider in California. The path to recovery begins with the decision to seek help, and the journey is worth every step.

[esmedelacroix]

00 - Pilot

synopsis ! he’s an American football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night. She’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life. They lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room.

series masterlist | cmnt to be added to taglist !

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol, angst, brief mention of self-harm, depressive tendencies, suggestive, explicit mentions of smut

fic radio ! Heavy by The Marías

Ryomen Sukuna knew from a young age that he was a genius. It didn’t take his fourth grade teacher’s praises or his middle school principal placing him in higher level math and science classes. He just knew. But his mother, the resentful drunk, put no effort into his education or his future.

He was the product of her falling in love with an American “businessman” who ended up being a low-level drug dealer who eventually got arrested. On his release day, he had already run away to a distant South American country. So here lived Ryomen and his absentee mother, who moved to America to live in a trailer park.

Ryomen’s mother didn’t bother taking him to school or making sure he got on the bus, so he attended school when he could. His teachers constantly sent notes home begging his mother to bring Ryomen to school, but she didn’t care to read them.

Ryomen picked up small jobs around the park, taking care of the elderly for money and sometimes just a meal. When a social worker was sent home, his mother laughed at the idea of Ryomen being intelligent, chuckling, “That brat will never amount to anything. Both his parents are dumb as fuck anyway!”

By middle school, he was juggling two jobs while attending school whenever he could. He probably broke a good amount of child labour laws, but it’s what kept him and his mother alive.

High school changed his life. His good friend, Toji Fushiguro, begged him to try out for the football team. He mused about how many girls they would get, knowing that he only asked Ryomen to try out with him because he was nervous.

Ryomen picked up football with ease. He was an aggressive tackler, and he was an amazing runner. All those hours he worked at factories and warehouses added to his physique. Having to fight the odd men his mother brought over sometimes also toughened him up. But in the case of football, he wasn't pushing himself because he had to; he played because it became an outlet for him.

He ended up being so good that he and Toji went to college with their amazing skills. Ryomen as a quarterback and Toji as a tight end. Their small town never sent anyone to college for sports, so Ryomen and Toji were practically celebrities. Toji thought it was a miracle that he would be attending a highly selective school just because he could catch a ball and block a few dudes. He had no clue that even without the sports scholarship, Ryomen could have gotten into an Ivy Leauge school with just his grades alone. He was an undercover nerd.

. . .

You grew up in the kind of environment where everything you did was talked about. Being one of the wealthiest families in Upstate New York meant all eyes were on you at all times. You were an only child who was afraid to rebel. So you tried your hardest to be picture perfect. Never allowing yourself to break under pressure.

Attending one of the most prestigious prep schools in New York meant having to be at the top of your class. It meant juggling a full schedule of APs, electives, extracurriculars, clubs, and tutoring. You did all of this seemingly without breaking a sweat. Being the best had a cost. You didn't get to live the teenage life, and it upset you. Your parents insisted on you staying close. But you had different ideas. You were tired of feeling like a hermit. Never having drank alcohol, or dated, or even partied(outside of formal events), you needed to do college right. You couldn’t achieve that close to home.

You could do that at Ohio State. You wouldn’t be the slightly entitled good girl. You'd be the life of the party.

. . .

-> next part

[suku-enthusiasts]

chapter one || pick up - s. ryomen

❛ ❜ sukuna ryomen x f!reader || modern au

❝Growing up with the pink haired boy, it was no surprise when he put a ring on your finger when you both turned eighteen. The young man Sukuna Ryomen Itadori knew your dark life at home with your family, desperately trying to take you away. Until he is sentenced to 10 years of prison for keeping true to his vows… “I promise you with all of my being, I will protect you in anyway I have to, til the day I die.” And protects you he does…❞

cw ; mdni • 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol/weed. hurt/trauma. family trauma. consent/non consent. smut . anxiety. death.

word count ; 4.2k

main masterlist | series masterlist

“Sukuna Ryomen Itadori,” the judge began, voice flat and half-amused, like he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of his own mouth. “Heh… can’t believe I’m even saying this.” The courtroom was quiet, sterile, the air thick with the stench of recycled disappointment and a hint of bleach. The judge leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning the file before him. “Based on the recommendation of both your therapist and your psychiatrist, your evaluations confirm you’re eligible for early parole. You’ve remained consistent throughout your confinement—attending each of your sessions, cooperating without incident, and maintaining a stable record with other inmates. You’ll remain on parole for the next three years.”

The rest of his words bled into nothing, fading into static as Sukuna stood in silence. The gray jumpsuit clung to the hard lines of his body, the chain of the handcuffs taut where his wrists hung in front of him. His fingers tapped against the meat of his thigh, not from nervousness, but from raw impatience. He could feel the weight of time pressing against his spine. The courtroom lights buzzed overhead, flickering like a gnat in his ear, irritating, pointless. His jaw ticked. His tongue pressed to the back of his teeth. He didn’t want to be here—not like this. Not still bound. Not still muzzled by rules and regulations and parole terms that meant nothing to a man like him.

Three fucking years. Three years of check-ins, drug tests, community reports. Three years of fake smiles and dull apologies. Three years of pretending he didn’t wake up every morning with violence under his tongue. The judge kept talking, but Sukuna’s mind had already gone somewhere else—somewhere darker. Somewhere warmer. Sink my cock deep into her— A sudden knock at the cell door slammed the thought into pieces. 

“Let’s go, kid. Time to get you discharged. Your wife is here,” the guard grunted. His voice was flat, habitual. Like this was just another Tuesday. Sukuna blinked slowly, almost confused. One minute he’d been in the courtroom, and now he was back in the concrete box they called a cell, sitting on the edge of his bunk like time had bent in on itself. He pushed off the mattress with a groan, stretching his arms over his head. His spine cracked with the movement, muscles tightening from too many hours hunched in silence. The tension in his body never left—it just simmered under his skin, waiting. “Alright, alright, alright,” he muttered under his breath, dragging his feet toward the exit.

The discharge clerk didn’t even look up as he entered the room. She had a stack of papers already waiting. “Mr. Itadori, before we can release you under Mrs. Itadori’s custody, we’ll need your signature on these.” Sukuna let out a sharp exhale, not quite a sigh, more of a growl. He grabbed the pen off the desk and started scribbling without hesitation. There was no point in reading them. Whether he liked it or not, this was the only road out. The only path back to the outside. Back to her. Each stroke of the pen was an act of submission, and it made his skin crawl. He wasn’t a man built for obedience. But for now, he’d sign. He’d play the part. 

He didn’t hear the door open.

“Suku…” The sound of your voice—so soft, so familiar—hit him harder than the judge’s gavel. A low, involuntary groan slipped from his throat. The hairs on his arms rose as a chill traced its way down his spine. His name on your tongue still had weight. Still had power. He turned slowly, letting the pen fall to the desk, the metal clatter forgotten.

And there you were.

Framed in the doorway like a dream. Older now. Softer, somehow, but stronger too. Your green eyes were wide, shining with something unspoken—shock, maybe, or grief. Or just the overwhelming reality of seeing him again after six long years. Your hair spilled over your shoulders in thick curls, and your body… God. Full and curvy and real. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch. A smirk unfurled slowly on his lips, dark and hungry. “Well hey there, baby doll,” he drawled, voice lower than it used to be. Rougher. Like gravel soaked in heat. He let his eyes roam shamelessly, drinking you in. The last time he’d seen you, you were barely twenty. A girl playing house with a monster. Now you were twenty-six. Still his. Still tethered to him, whether you realized it or not, and now he was going home.

With you.

You stared. For a second, that’s all you could do. Just stand there in the dim light of the parole office and blink at the man in front of you. He was massive. Bigger than you remembered—bigger than you imagined he could even become. You hadn’t seen him in person in six years, and nothing could have prepared you for how much he’d changed. The letters, the phone calls, the low rasp of his voice over a crackling line... they didn’t do justice to the reality that now stood before you. Sukuna was a solid wall of muscle, broad-shouldered and thick through the chest, with biceps that looked like they could snap your spine without effort. His frame towered at 6'5", made all the more imposing by the sheer power he carried in stillness. He stood tall, self-assured, every inch of him carved from hard time and pent-up rage. You couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop wondering how the hell he managed to look like that after spending years locked inside a cage.

How did he do that in prison, of all places?

You felt your mouth go dry. “I-I don’t think these clothes are gonna fit you,” you stammered, eyes darting away as heat crept up your neck. “Well... the shirt won’t.” You clutched the fresh clothes in your arms, eyes glued to a crack in the tile just to avoid looking at his bare chest. His body was intimidating now in a way it hadn’t been before. Not unfamiliar—but matured, dangerous, coiled like a weapon. Maybe if he had let you visit him during those six years, it wouldn’t have hit you this hard. Maybe the transformation wouldn’t have felt like such a punch to the gut. But he never let you. He stuck to grainy phone calls and carefully folded letters, always scribbled with the same warning: “This is no place for an innocent lady like you.”

And he wasn’t wrong. You would’ve been eaten alive in a place like that. But still… you wished you’d seen him. Even once. Maybe then your hands wouldn’t be shaking. “I’ve got an undershirt,” he said casually, his deep voice tugging you back into the moment. “I’ll take the sweats.” He leaned down, placing a rough but affectionate kiss against your cheek, and then plucked the sweatpants from your hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. But even that small gesture left your skin burning where his lips had been. He was warm. Heavy. Real. You watched him disappear down the hallway toward the bathroom, the tension in your shoulders refusing to ease. “Your husband is terrifying,” the clerk mumbled once he was out of earshot, her tone low and honest. You smiled before you could stop yourself. Not out of offense, but out of memory. “He sure does look it, doesn’t he?” you murmured. “But he’s actually very gentle. Very kind. He was always the sweetest young boy.” Your voice softened, trailing into something wistful. You could still picture him as that reckless teenager with the wild grin and blood under his nails, tugging you along by the hand like the whole world was his to ruin. And somehow, even now—he was still that boy. Somewhere under all the muscle and ink and scars.

You heard the bathroom door creak open, heavy footsteps echoing on the floor. “I’m ready to go,” he groaned, rolling his shoulders as he reentered the room, the fabric of his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His undershirt clung to his frame like a second skin, doing little to hide the bulk beneath. “Let’s go then,” you said quietly, your voice steadying as you stepped toward him. Your hand brushed against his—accidental, deliberate, neither of you willing to say, and just like that, the outside world was waiting.

✦ ✦ ✦  

The drive home was wrapped in silence. No music played. No idle conversation filled the space. Just the steady rhythm of tires crunching over pavement and gravel, and the soft sound of your breathing. You gripped the wheel a little tighter than necessary, knuckles pale, heart a little too fast. The weight of him beside you—the sheer presence of Sukuna Itadori—pressed into the air like a second atmosphere.

He sat with one arm draped over his knee, long fingers twitching slightly like they were itching for something to do. His head leaned against the window, but his eyes weren’t focused on anything outside. They were watching you. “Why ya nervous?” he asked casually, his voice low and rough, scraping through the silence like a match to paper. One of his hands moved and settled over your thigh, large and warm, grounding. Possessive. You almost jumped. “I—I’m not nervous,” you lied, clumsy and transparent. Your voice broke mid-sentence, and you hated how obvious it was. “The stuttering says otherwise.” He smirked, cocking an eyebrow, amused. You tried to swallow the tension crawling up your throat. “I just… haven’t seen you in a long time,” you replied, softer now, eyes fixed on the winding road ahead. “That’s all.”

There was a pause. A long one. He didn’t move his hand. “Ya scared?” he asked, voice quieter now, serious in a way that made your stomach tighten.

You hesitated. “No… not that you’d hurt me,” you said honestly, flicking your eyes toward him. “I just… I know what you’re capable of. What you’d do to others. Especially for me.” You sighed, breath shaking as you pushed forward, trying to be brave enough to say it. “I don’t want to be the reason you go back… again.” The confession hung in the air like smoke—soft, but sharp. It stung you even as you said it. Sukuna didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. You could feel the shift in him—something dark and molten stirring just beneath the surface. But instead of letting it rise, he simply flexed his fingers slightly on your thigh. Not a threat. A tether.

You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “We grew up together, Suku… but it’s been six years. I have to get to know you again. You’re not the same person anymore.” Your voice cracked at the edges, your facade cracking with it. You were trying so damn hard to be calm, composed, steady behind the wheel—but he knew you too well. Knew every twitch in your jaw, every shallow breath, every tightened muscle. And right now, he could see the tremble behind your skin. You turned down a gravel road, the familiar rumble beneath your tires making your chest tighten with something that felt dangerously close to nostalgia. The house came into view—small, old-fashioned, with faded paint and ivy climbing the side. It was tucked away from the rest of the world, surrounded by trees and the quiet safety of nowhere.

The same house Sukuna had built for you when you were just eighteen.

“Home sweet home,” he groaned, pushing the door open before the car had even come to a full stop. He climbed out with the kind of energy that didn’t belong to someone just released from prison. He moved like a man uncaged, stretching every muscle like it was waking from hibernation. You barely had time to put the car in park before following him. “We’ll have to go shopping tomorrow for some new clothes. I’m sorry, I should’ve—” A calloused hand touched your cheek, warm and steady, cutting your apology short. “I’ll be aight’,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your skin with a surprising gentleness. “We’ll go t’morrow.” You nodded, the touch making your heart trip in your chest. He ruffled your hair like he used to when you were teenagers—fond, teasing, full of silent affection—then turned and headed for the porch.

He paused before the door. “There ain’t anyone in there, right?” His tone turned wary, his eyes scanning the windows. “You didn’t throw some surprise party or somethin’?” You smiled, unlocking the door with a soft click. “No. I knew you wouldn’t want that.” He gave you a quick, approving nod, and stepped inside.

The moment he crossed the threshold, he stopped. He inhaled deeply. The scent of sandalwood and clove curled through the air from the incense burning in the corner—warm, soothing, comforting. The kind of scent that clung to skin and memories alike. “God,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Feels so fuckin’ good to be home.” And with that, he strode down the hallway like he owned the place—which he did, in a way—and disappeared into the bathroom. You heard the rustle of clothes being shed, the soft thud of fabric hitting tile. No shame, no hesitation. He’d always been like that. Stark naked, stripping within seconds like prison hadn’t tamed a single part of him.

You exhaled a laugh under your breath and headed for the bedroom. “Let me get you some boxers and sweats,” you called, already rifling through the bottom drawer where you’d kept his old things.

You sat at the edge of the bed, hunched forward, chewing at the corner of your thumbnail with nervous, restless energy. Your body felt like it was on the verge of combusting, skin too tight, breath shallow, your stomach coiled in anxious knots. The reality of it all was finally starting to sink in—he was home. Sukuna was home. In your house. In your life again. The same man who once left behind a trail of wreckage and blood now stood in your hallway with a parole tag and clean clothes, and you had no idea what came next Would he fall back into the chaos that once ruled him? Would the fire inside him spill over the way it used to—reckless, violent, protective to the point of destruction? Or had the years caged behind concrete and iron finally tempered him into something else? Someone else? Your thoughts spiraled fast and unrelenting, like a dam ready to burst.

The sound of the bathroom door swinging open jolted you out of your storm. Warm light spilled into the bedroom, casting a soft glow on the doorway—and then there he was. Sukuna stepped out, pink hair tousled and damp, a white towel slung over his shoulders as he rubbed it lazily through his hair. His broad chest glistened with lingering water, drops rolling slowly down over old scars and taut skin. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, revealing the deep V-cut of his waistline and the raw strength carved into every inch of him. You tried not to stare. Failed miserably.

“Hi,” you mumbled, dropping your eyes to the floor, your face already burning. A low smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Hey,” he replied, casual and cocky as ever. “You like what you see?” God. Your skin ignited. You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “Ryo…” His name came out as a muffled whimper, part embarrassment, part plea for mercy. He chuckled darkly, and you felt the shift of the mattress as he approached, the bed dipping under his weight. The next thing you knew, he was nudging you back onto the sheets, your hands still pressed to your face, and then—softness. His lips. Gentle, playful kisses landed on the backs of your hands, your knuckles, your wrists. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like he was savoring you already. “Let me see you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a husky growl, mouth now moving down to your jaw, then your neck. “No,” you whispered, burying yourself further into his chest, heart pounding like a drum inside your ribs. “Hey.” His tone shifted—no longer teasing. Serious. Steady. Sukuna’s large hands gripped your wrists gently, guiding them down so he could see your face. He hovered over you, eyes searching. “You aight?”

You blinked up at him, frozen under his gaze, and finally gave a small nod. “Y-yeah… I’m just… not… ready for that. Not yet.” Your voice came out quieter than you wanted. Raw. Honest. You turned your face away, ashamed at the sudden wave of hesitation. Sukuna didn’t push. Didn’t press. Instead, he sat back and adjusted his weight, lifting you into his lap like it was nothing, placing you there gently so you were eye level, so he could hold you without crowding you. His arms wrapped around you loosely, grounding you, keeping you close without smothering. “Why?” he asked, his voice softer now, low and serious, but not accusing. Just wanting to understand. His hand moved to your back, rubbing slowly in little circles. “You don’t have to hide from me.” You tried to find the words. Tried to meet his eyes. “It’s just… it’s been so long. Since we were… like that. Since I’ve been touched like that at all. And now you’re here and it’s… it’s a lot.” He lifted a hand, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin with a tenderness that didn’t match his intimidating frame. “Baby,” he said, coaxing your eyes back to him. “Slow down. You ain’t gotta rush nothin’. I’m not here to hurt ya.” He pet your hair gently, fingertips combing through your curls like you were something precious—fragile, treasured. The tension in your chest finally cracked. You leaned forward slowly, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your body into his. The familiar warmth of him calmed your nerves, made your muscles unclench. And then you kissed him—soft and slow, your lips pressing against his like a promise. It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t frenzy.

It was relief. Connection. The start of something old, rediscovered.

“We… we haven’t been together. Not physically. Not even in the same room for the last six years.” Your voice was soft, trembling just a little as you lay curled in his lap, your head resting against his bare chest. The heat of his skin pulsed against your cheek, grounding and overwhelming all at once. “You refused to see me, Suku. For years you wouldn’t let me visit. I had to hear your voice over crackling phones, read your handwriting in cold letters. You left me alone… and I missed you so much.” He didn’t speak. His arms held you still. Secure.

“This feels…” you swallowed thickly, your eyes fixed on the way his chest rose and fell, the rhythm slow and deep. “It feels new. I know it shouldn’t—it’s us. We have all this history. We’ve known each other since we were kids. But this right now… it feels like starting over. And I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to be touched anymore. I don’t know how to relax. I’m trying. But I need you to be patient with me. Please.”

You tilted your chin up, brushing your fingers along his cheek. The rough stubble scraped your skin, but his eyes softened under your touch.

“Mmm… mkay,” he murmured, leaning in to place a warm kiss on your cheek, his lips lingering a second longer than necessary. Then, his voice dropped, low and gritty. “Ya mind sittin’ here a little longer while I fix my problem?” The look in his eyes was molten, simmering with restrained hunger. His restraint was impressive—barely. You could see it in the sharpness of his jaw, the flex of his shoulders, the way he deliberately kept himself still beneath you. His cock was hard, thick, straining beneath the fabric of his sweats, and he hadn’t once pushed or begged. He was waiting. But barely. You nodded silently, your breath catching, and reached to help him tug his sweatpants down, your hands brushing against the fevered skin of his abdomen. When his cock sprang free—red, swollen, pulsing with need—you couldn’t help but stare. He groaned, head tilting back, one hand wrapping around himself with a frustrated hiss.

“F-fuck…” he growled, his voice already fraying. It had clearly been too long. His body trembled, his abs tightening as he tried to find relief, but even in this act, he kept looking at you. His eyes flicked to your blushing face, to the way your thighs pressed together. You reached out without a word, your hand replacing his, wrapping around his length like instinct. Like memory. Because if there was one thing you never forgot… it was how to please your husband. “Shit—oh, shit,” he gasped, his whole body jerking as your grip tightened in just the right rhythm. He planted his hands behind him to brace himself, his head thrown back, muscles strained like he was holding onto a thread. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

His mouth crashed onto yours—hot, desperate—as if he needed to anchor himself in you before he broke apart entirely. His cock twitched violently in your hand. Just a few more strokes, and he came hard, spilling over your fingers and your sleep shirt with a ragged cry, the tension in his body snapping like a cord pulled too tight. He slumped forward, panting hard, his face flushed and contorted in something that looked like agony. He looked at you like he was drowning, his pupils blown wide.

You heard him whisper something.

“What?” you asked, your voice shaky. “I… need… you… to get out,” he growled, barely holding himself together. His cock, already hardening again, throbbed against his thigh. His breathing was wild. “Now. Please.” The chill that swept through your spine wasn’t fear. It was something deeper—darker. A rush of heat, a flutter of nervous electricity. You nodded slowly and slipped off his lap, gathering yourself as quietly as you could. You grabbed a clean shirt from the drawer, your heart hammering as you stepped out of the bedroom and softly shut the door behind you. You couldn’t bring yourself to go far. You sat outside the bedroom, back against the wall, knees pulled to your chest. And you listened.

For the next two hours, you heard it all. The low groans. The way your name rasped from his lips like a prayer or a curse. The way the bed creaked beneath his weight. The unrelenting need of a man who had been caged for too long, starving for the woman he’d refused to see but never stopped craving. You couldn’t leave. You couldn’t sleep. You just sat there, trembling, your hand over your mouth as the sounds of his pleasure soaked into your skin like ink. Only when the water finally ran—sharp, loud, the spray of a hot shower—did you rise and quietly slip back into the room. The lights were off. The room was calm. And Sukuna, now clean and warm under the blanket, lying on his back, already asleep. His brows were still furrowed, even in slumber, as if even now, even with you beside him, he was still wrestling with the beast inside.

He must have been exhausted, you thought to yourself as you stood quietly at the edge of the bed. The room was dim, painted in soft shadows from the moonlight spilling through the curtains. The air was warm, and the only sound was the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of Sukuna’s breath beneath the blanket. You watched him for a moment—his long frame stretched across the mattress, one arm flung lazily over the pillow where you used to sleep. His features were relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in years. No tension, no sharp edge in his jaw. Just rest. It made your chest ache, how young he looked in sleep. Like the years hadn’t stolen so much from him. Carefully, you peeled back the covers and slipped in beside him, the mattress shifting with your weight. “Suku,” you whispered gently, not wanting to startle him. His eyes snapped open instantly—sharp, alert, like a soldier trained by instinct. But the moment they landed on your face, all of that hardness melted. The storm in him settled. He blinked once, then again, adjusting to the sight of you so close.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” you murmured, keeping your voice soft, barely more than a breath. “Is it okay if I lie down with you?”

His face shifted—just slightly—but enough to melt the wall between you. His brow unfurrowed, his shoulders dropped, and a tired but genuine softness crept into his gaze. Without saying a word, he lifted his arm and wrapped it around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his body. You let yourself fold into him, your head resting beneath his chin, your hand curling against his chest where his heart thudded steadily beneath your palm. “Mmhmm,” he hummed, his lips brushing the top of your head. Then his eyes closed again, and within moments, he was drifting back to sleep, his breathing deep and even.

Wrapped in his arms, you felt the chaos of the day slowly begin to fade. For the first time in six years, the bed wasn’t cold. The silence wasn’t hollow. He was home. Not just in your house, but with you. And for tonight, that was enough.

next

[vesna-v-irkutske]

hi vesna, wanted to know what the apparent letter that artyom sent to ''varya'' says if u have time😭

Hi! To be honest, this whole situation is very annoying and stupid.

First of all, who is Varya? Varya is supposedly a 15 year old girl who wanted to break up Artyom and Daphne. A couple of things: - the photos she sent weren't even hers (and they weren't NSFW); - it doesn't look like Artyom knew her real age. Some more information and rumors from r/IrkutskMolotochniki, most of it comes from a person with an extremely annoying way of talking who communicated with Daphne:

Comments from March 22, May 14 (pic. 2 and 3), May 20 and June 1, 2024.

In early August, Daphne made 2 posts on r/Earkutsk (her subreddit) explaining everything. You can read them here and here.

I have one of Artyom's previous letters to Varya, so I'll translate it first.

"Hello, Varya. I received the letter on September 26. I deeply apologize for such a long reply. I can't physically do it faster. I ask you to be understanding… or not =D O-o-oh, I also missed your birthday. This is somehow completely unjust. I apologize for that too. I understand how you've probably been waiting, but you see — I work at the sewing machine, so sometimes I get completely stitched up¹... =) If we live to see it, I'll do better by next birthday. Probably… =) • I'm not against communication, if you're not against communication in such a leisurely, to put it mildly, rhythm. Nice to meet you, by the way =D Thanks for the photo. You've really lifted my spirits. I spent half an hour admiring and licking my lips X) • Jurisprudence is a good choice, I'm a jurist too². What is the reason for this choice? • I'm doing fine, thank you for your concern. What about you? I fill my free time with a little bit of everything. I write letters mostly. Well, I also read, watch TV, listen to the radio, study foreign languages and do music. How do you spend your free time? • My musical preferences are about the same as yours — genre is not as important as quality. But still, by and large, they come down to heavy and electronic music. Do you have any favorite artists, compositions? • I'm both working and studying. Bad habits?.. o.O Well, let's say I don't smoke³. There's no need to talk about alcohol and drugs — there just aren't even such opportunities =) What else do you mean by bad habits? I don't think I have any, I'm almost perfect =D • My relationship with my mom is good. She doesn't miss a single long visit. • As for the girls, my interest here is situational. I don't gravitate towards any particular type, I evaluate all the details of the personality in the aggregate. As for the situation with Daphne, no comments yet =) Thank you for your congratulations and generous wishes. Even though I'm a month and a half late, I wish you well too, and I wish you all your dreams come true =) Since our communication will continue soon, in conclusion, I'd like to ask you what books do you read and what movies do you watch? Good luck! 27.11.2023"

¹ He meant that sometimes he gets too caught up in his work. ² I'm not sure he has a degree. He obviously wouldn't be able to become a sworn advocate AT LEAST because of his reputation. I think it's a matter of terminology. A jurist is a person with expert knowledge of law; someone who analyzes and comments on law. This person is usually a specialist legal scholar, mostly (but not always) with a formal education in law (a law degree) and often a legal practitioner. In the Russian Federation, a jurist can be a person who has received secondary professional or higher legal education. A jurist can provide legal assistance and legal services in criminal, civil, tax, labor, family, inheritance, housing, corporate, administrative and other legal matters. A jurist needs the status of an advocate only to defend someone in a criminal case. In some categories of criminal cases, protection may be provided by persons who don't have an advocate's status. So, basically, as I understand it, MAYBE he can be a jurist, but not an actual advocate/lawyer. Genuinely, whatever, take everything Artyom says with a grain of salt, he likes trolling. ³ Answers this question, I guess.

Now to the letter you sent. 👇🏻

"Varya, hi. I received the letter on November 30. Also, on the very eve of the New Year, I received a photo of you, which you intended to convince me of your coming of age... =) Great photo. You're irresistible =D • Before I get to the main content of your letters, I'll start with the non-main one =) I congratulate you on the past holidays and wish you good health, lots of money, always a great mood, and that everything goes according to plan, and, of course, great and pure love =D Speaking of love. It's a beautiful feeling, isn't it?.. =) It sometimes makes you do rash things, doesn't it? =) That's gratifying that you turned out to be a conscientious girl and immediately after your rash act you wrote to me and repented. This will definitely be counted as a mitigating factor for you in the future¹ =D And who is this girl whose channel² you sent the letter to? What's her name? Any idea why she needs it if she didn't delete it? And here another kind girl wrote to me that it was you who posted the letter in your channel... =) This is probably that misinformation about you. As for the dirt, insults, and threats, who exactly allowed themselves to do this to you? If possible, give at least a couple of examples of people who did this. At least you're not like them, are you? Not being rude or threatening anyone there? =) I don't recommend doing this. Those who do this, especially in relation to those whom I know in a positive light, may not expect anything good from me. • Okay, Varechka. You did something stupid and you did it. Who doesn't? Let's hope that this doesn't lead to more serious difficulties for you, in particular problems with the law. It also happens… Let's finally talk about you. How are you feeling? Not sick anymore? How did you spend the New Year holidays? And what's the news in general? What are you currently studying at your educational institution? You're getting a tertiary education, right? • You write that you go to the gym, well done. What kind of sport do you practice? Or just fitness? You're reviewing photos and videos of me? Well, you have great taste XD I have the same thing with my favorite music artists — I can't get enough forms to list them all =) Well, you know, you saw the playlist³ =) The TV series "Fisher"⁴? Well, yes, I can guess who it's about. Have you watched "The Method"⁵? I think you'll like it too =) • My favorite dish? I wonder why you need this? o.O Mostly pelmeni =D In general, I'm unpretentious in gastronomic matters. As long as it's tasty, healthy and nutritious =) And what's your favorite dish? • As for the cities I've been to, there's not even much to choose from… I've been to Ulan-Ude, Usolye-Sibirskoye (Irkutsk region), Novosibirsk, Omsk, Tyumen, Kirov, Vologda. In the last five of the mentioned cities, I was only in detention centers and saw a little bit of the street from the window of the paddy wagon =) In general, it was difficult to form an opinion about the cities. Well, judging by the data about the cities of the world, which became known to me from wherever it was, then... it's even more difficult X) First of all, I'd like to visit the city of Spijkenisse in the Netherlands⁶. It's a good city, they say =) But Moscow⁷, in general, is not bad either. If you know what I mean... X) • A movie? Perhaps, "Saw." For all time =) And what are your favorite city and movie? • Varechka, what can I sew for you? I can't sew anything but workwear. So no matter what I start sewing, I'll still end up with some kind of cop's or worker's clothes. You don't need that, do you? =) • I'm cool by nature =D There's nothing more to add. • How I feel about trolls on the internet. I don't give a hoot about the internet and everyone who lives in it =) I hardly ever go there, so I don't come into contact with trolls. I was a troll? o.O Where does this information come from?.. Tell me, who is without sin? We all get in the mood to troll. But depending on the skills, the result is different for everyone: who becomes a troll, and who becomes a sad shit X)

• The question about Zonatelecom's⁸ tariff seems to have an underlying reason... =) I haven't used this tariff, because I haven't used phone calls on a regular basis yet. I called with permission, which is not given as often as I'd like. So what's the point in me figuring out these tariffs? And even when you call regularly, I personally don't see the point in them, because if you get a cheaper call than usual, it means you're losing something, because for free pleasure, as they say, someone also has to pay. Thus, the cost of a telephone conversation decreases because the quality of connection deteriorates. And I treasure the connection with my loved ones =D • Oh, I got to your second letter. Hi, Varya =) Things, mood, well-being — everything's all right. And you? I'm glad to know about your dog =) I don't remember what a Yorkshire Terrier looks like, so if you want, you can send me a picture. • Well, Varya, I can't give birth to a story out of the blue, but when it's appropriate in our dialogue, I'll definitely tell you something. Be patient =) All the best! 06.01.2024"

¹ It's not me, it's him writing like an idiot. For a second, he imagined himself as a priest, to whom people should repent of their sins. I mean, this checks out. You know what they say about Christian priests. It's noteworthy that he uses the word "девочка" (little girl) instead of "девушка" (young woman), which would mean a more mature age. 🤮 ² On Telegram. I doubt it exists now, but who knows. ³ A few years ago, Artyom wrote a long list of songs that he listens to, and someone made a playlist on Spotify. ⁴ "Fisher" is a Russian thriller TV series. The plot of the 1st season is based on real events — serial killer Sergey Golovkin, who operated in the Odintsovsky District of the Moscow region from 1986 to 1992, had the nickname "Fisher." ⁵ "The Method" is a Russian crime drama TV series. Some of the characters were loosely based on real criminals, including the Academy maniacs. ⁶ Daphne, Artyom's fiancée, is from the Netherlands. ⁷ Varya probably said that she lives in Moscow. ⁸ Zonatelecom is an app for communication with prisoners. You can call them, write letters, send postcards, money.

Письма на русском для тех, кто хочет прочитать их в оригинале, но не хочет разбирать почерк Артёма. Орфография сохранена.

"Здравствуй, Варя. Письмо получил 26 сентября. Приношу глубочайшие извинения за такой долгий ответ. Быстрее физически никак не могу. Прошу отнестись с пониманием… или не относиться =D О-о-о, я ещё и день твоего рождения пропустил. Это уж как-то совсем неправосудно. Прошу прощения и за это тоже. Понимаю, как ты наверно ждала, но видишь — я работаю на швейке, так что иногда совсем зашиваюсь… =) Если доживём, то к следующему дню рождения исправлюсь. Наверно… =) • Я не против общения, если и ты не против общения в таком неторопливом, мягко говоря, ритме. Приятно познакомиться, кстати =D Благодарю за фото. Очень подняла настроение. Полчаса любовался и облизывался X) • Юриспруденция — хороший выбор, я тоже юрист. Чем такой выбор обусловлен? • Дела у меня в порядке, благодарю за беспокойство. А как у тебя? Свободное время я забиваю всем помаленьку. В основном письма пишу. Ну а так ещё читаю, смотрю телек, слушаю радио, занимаюсь иностранными языками и музыкой. Как ты проводишь свободное время? • Музыкальные предпочтения у меня примерно, как у тебя — не столь важен жанр, сколько качество. Но всё же по большому счёту они сводятся к тяжёлой и электронной музыке. У тебя есть какие-то любимые исполнители, композиции? • Я и работаю, и учусь. Вредные привычки?.. o.O Ну, скажем, я не курю. Об алкоголе и о наркоте и говорить не приходится — тут просто даже возможностей таких нет =) Что ещё подразумевать под вредными привычками? Пожалуй, нет у меня таковых, я почти идеален =D • Отношения с мамой хорошие. Она не пропускает ни одного длительного свидания. • Что касается девушек — тут мой интерес ситуативен. К какому-то определённому типажу не тяготею, все детали личности оцениваю в совокупности. Что касается ситуации с Дафной, то пока без комментариев =) Благодарю за поздравления и щедрые пожелания. Хоть и опоздал на полтора месяца, но и тебя тоже с прошедшим и желаю сбычи всех мечт =) Коль скоро наше общение продолжится, в заключение хотел бы поинтересоваться, какие книги ты читаешь и какое кино смотришь? Удачи! 27.11.2023"

Второе письмо мне пришлось разделить на 2 блока из-за лимита знаков, поэтому там внезапный разрыв. 👇🏻

"Варя, привет. Получил письмо 30 ноября. Также в самое преддверие Нового года получил твою фотографию, которой ты намеревалась убедить меня в своём совершеннолетии... =) Отличная фотография. Ты неотразима =D • Прежде чем я перейду к основному содержанию твоих писем, начну с неосновного =) Поздравляю тебя с минувшими праздниками и желаю здоровья, много денег, всегда отличного настроения, чтобы всё шло по плану, ну и, конечно, большой и чистой любви =D Кстати о любви. Прекрасное чувство, не правда ли?.. =) Оно порой толкает на необдуманные поступки, да? =) Отрадно, что ты оказалась совестливой девочкой и сразу после своего необдуманного поступка написала мне и покаялась. Тебе это в дальнейшем обязательно зачтётся, как смягчающее обстоятельство =D А что это за девочка такая, в чей канал ты отправила письмо? Как её зовут? Есть предположения, зачем ей это нужно, если она не стала его удалять? А мне тут другая добрая девочка написала, что это ты в своём канале выложила письмо... =) Наверно это та самая деза (дезинформация) о тебе. Что касается грязи, оскорблений, угроз, кто конкретно позволил себе такое в отношении тебя? Приведи по возможности хотя бы пару примеров лиц, кто это делал. Ты-то хоть им не уподобляешься? Не грубишь там никому, не угрожаешь? =) Не рекомендую этого делать. Те, кто так делает, тем более по отношению к тем, кого я знаю с хорошей стороны, могут ничего хорошего от меня не ждать. • Ладно, Варечка. Совершила глупость и совершила. С кем не бывает? Будем надеяться на то, что это не обернётся для тебя более серьёзными трудностями, в частности, проблемами с законом. Бывает и такое... Давай лучше наконец о тебе поговорим. Как самочувствие? Больше не болеешь? Как провела Новогодние каникулы? И какие в целом новости? Что сейчас проходите в вашем учебном заведении? Ты же высшее образование получаешь? • Ты пишешь, что в зал ходишь — это ты молодец. Каким видом спорта ты занимаешься? Или просто фитнесом? Фото и видео со мной пересматриваешь? Что ж, у тебя отличный вкус XD С любимыми исполнителями музыки у меня такая же фигня — всех перечислять бланков не напасёшься =) Ну, ты знаешь, ты видела плейлист =) Сериал "Фишер"? Ну да, догадываюсь, о ком это. А "Метод" не смотрела? Думаю, тебе тоже понравится =) • Моё любимое блюдо? Интересно, зачем тебе это? o.O В основном пельмешки =D А вообще я в гастрономических вопросах непритязательный. Лишь бы было вкусно, полезно и питательно =) А какое любимое блюдо у тебя? • Что касается городов, то из тех, в которых я был, даже и выбрать как-то не из чего... Я был в Улан-Удэ, Усолье-Сибирском (Иркутская область), Новосибе, Омске, Тюмени, Кирове, Вологде. В последних пяти из упомянутых городов был только в СИЗО и видел немного улицу из окна автозака =) В общем, мнение о городах составить было сложновато. Ну а если судить по тем данным о городах мира, которые стали мне известны откуда бы то ли было, то... ещё сложнее X) В первую очередь я бы хотел побывать в городе Спейкениссе в Нидерландах. Хороший, говорят, город =) Но и Москва, в общем-то, неплоха. Если ты понимаешь, о чём я... X) • Фильм? Пожалуй, "Пила". На все времена =) А какие твои любимые город и фильм? • Варечка, ну что я могу тебе сшить? Я кроме спецодежды ничего шить не умею. Так что, что бы я ни начал шить, на выходе всё равно получится шмотка мента какого-нибудь или рабочего. Тебе же такое не надо? =) • По характеру я клёвый =D Больше и добавить нечего. • Как я отношусь к троллям в интернете. Да мне по барабану этот интернет и все, кто в нём живёт =) Я-то там практически не бываю, поэтому и с троллями не соприкасаюсь. Я был троллем? o.O Это откуда такие сведения?.. Скажи мне, а кто без греха? У всех у нас бывает настроение потроллить. Только в зависимости от умений результат у всех разный: кто становится троллем, а кто — УГ (унылое говно) X)

• Вопрос о зонателекомовском тарифе, кажется, с подоплёкой... =) Я таким тарифом не пользовался, потому что вообще телефонными звонками я ещё на постоянной основе не пользовался. Я звонил по разрешению, которое даётся не так часто, как хотелось бы. Поэтому смысл мне разбираться в этих тарифах? Да даже когда звонишь регулярно, я лично не вижу в них смысла, потому что если звонок тебе дешевле обычного, значит ты чего-то лишаешься, ибо за бесплатное удовольствие, как говорится, тоже кто-то должен заплатить. Таким образом, стоимость телефонного разговора снижается потому, что ухудшается качество связи. А связью с близкими людьми я дорожу =D • О, добрался до твоего второго письма. Привет, Варя =) Дела, настроение, самочувствие — всё в порядке. А у тебя? Рад узнать о твоей собачке =) Как выглядит йоркширский терьер, не помню, так что, если хочешь, можешь отправить фотку. • Ну, Варь, на ровном месте родить историю я не могу, но когда это будет уместно в нашем диалоге, я обязательно что-нибудь расскажу. Запасись терпением =) Счастливо! 06.01.2024"

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[randomnessunlimitedblog]

D'ya really think Ken and Okazaki are comparable in terms of evil-ness?

Tetro spoilers under the cut

Okay honestly I don't think anyone in Tetro is 100% good or evil, however I will discuss Okazaki and Hasegawa in this post

Okazaki:

Beat up Wada, horribly injuring him

Made Wada have panic attacks by locking him up in small spaces

Pickpocketed stuff

Killed two innocent people, one of whom was slowly and painfully tortured to death

Ken:

Used the investigation into Watari's murder as a pretext for finding out his classmates' medical issues and personal traumas

Switched Yanagi's painkiller medicine with emetics

Stole Wada's food (which he knows is traumatic for Wada)

Swapped Hiroaki's milk with soy milk (which he's allergic to)

Gave Hiroaki back his drugs so he'd relapse

Lied to Ojima that Ojima attacked him while dissociating

Force-fed Ojima alcohol while he was dissociating to make him drunk

Repeatedly chose dare in the Loyalty Game and passed his penalties on to Mai, causing her to get brutally injured

Wrote death threats to Tamba

Dumped pool chlorine on Mai

Placed several traps around the school, which injured people

Trapped Yanagi in a dark room with nine rotting corpses for several hours

Killed Mai, an innocent person who wanted to help everyone

Tried to get the entire class killed. As if this wasn't bad enough, he'd been planning this since before Watari died, meaning that Watari and Hama (who actively reached out to him and tried to comfort him after Kamimura died) were going to be killed too

Claimed that nobody in the killing game knew what losing a loved one felt like after killing the girl Yanagi wanted to marry (and ignoring the pain of people like Wada, who lost four friends in the game)

I feel like you can argue that on one hand Okazaki was already "evil" when she came into the game and Ken was slowly driven insane, but on the other hand Ken did a lot more things and hurt a lot more people than Okazaki

Again, I think morality is hard to evaluate in Tetro because these are kids stuck in a life or death situation, but anyway those are my thoughts

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