#i missed hj's live this morning because i had to get ready to go out

[wahgifs]

💙🤍🖤

[honeypiehotchner]

Recompense (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

My suitemate made me write this /hj

Also talk about returning to Hotch fics with something completely out of left field 🤪🤪

Warnings: 18+ only pleaseeee y’all know the drill, slight sub!Hotch/dom!reader, light bondage, grinding, angst, MAYBE dubcon if you absolutely squint

WC: 2.1k

Hotch had been gone for weeks, which isn’t unusual, but still takes its toll. To combat it, you and Hotch have been planning a dinner for when he gets back.

“Should we go out or stay in?”

“Stay in,” Aaron said, exhaustion laced through his words. “I’m so tired of eating out.”

“I know you are, babe,” you murmured. As much as Hotch loves his junk food, he hates eating out so often. He misses your home cooked meals, homemade lunches. He misses running every morning, coming back to your sleepy eyes as you fix coffee for the both of you. “We’ll stay in. I’ll cook.”

“No, no, I’ll cook, you’ve been cooking a lot.”

“I actually haven’t,” you admitted sheepishly. “Cooking for one is hard and I’ve been too lazy anyway.”

“Honey…” He knows when you say ‘lazy,’ you really mean you’ve been missing him and it’s been getting to you. “I’ll be home soon.”

“I know you will.”

Every night he called, and every night a new facet of the date was planned. The menu, the table setting, the music.

If this hadn’t been the fourth case in a row that the BAU was called on, this feeling of missing him wouldn’t be as bad. But he barely had six hours of sleep before he was called out on the second one, and he didn’t even get to come home before the third. With the fourth one, he was home for a blissful twelve hours, but he was exhausted and slept for eight.

Needless to say, it’s been a while since the two of you have really seen one another.

The day that Hotch texts you that he’s coming home can’t come fast enough.

You haul yourself out of bed immediately, flipping lights on and throwing clothes over your body to get ready for the day. There’s a lot to be done, and you can’t wait to get started.

You have all day because it’s a long flight and they haven’t actually left yet, but still. There’s no time to waste.

+++

Hotch doesn’t know how time got so far away from him.

He texted with you when the jet landed, but you weren’t quite ready for him yet, so he went to the office with the rest of the team. His plan was to do paperwork for a few hours, then check back in with you.

Well, he worked for more than a few hours. And forgot to check in.

By the time he looks up, it’s well past the time when he was supposed to text you. It’s dark outside, for Christ’s sake.

He immediately calls you instead, but you send him straight to voicemail. He forgets all about the work he was doing and grabs his coat and keys.

He makes it home in less than half the normal time, but you’re not there. You’ve left a note on the counter, telling him you’ve gone for a drive to get a milkshake, and you don’t know what time you’ll feel like coming back.

He calls you again. Voicemail again.

This time, he leaves one for you. Telling you to come back -- begging, more like. His only hope is that it works, and that you’ll be walking through that door tonight.

+++

The sight before you makes your mouth water. And you hate it because you’re supposed to be angry, but you can’t be when your partner is sitting in front of you with his hands tied. Literally.

He took one of the chairs from the dining table and placed it in the middle of the living room. He’s out of his tie and has it tightened around his wrists, palms facing each other, fingers curled into fists.

“How did you even do that?” is the first question out of your mouth.

He chuckles. “You think I’d do something to you that I haven’t tried on myself?”

“Oh,” you squeak, but really, you’re thinking, that’s hot. “Right.”

You set your things down and lock the door behind you. You’re not sure exactly what to say. If you weren’t mad at him, you’d be on top of him right now. You’d be all over him. But you’re resisting, and you’re keeping your feet planted firmly here, by the front door.

“I’m sorry,” he says from his place in the living room.

“Is this your apology?” you deadpan, gesturing to his self-made predicament.

“Part of it,” he admits. “Do you want me to get up?”

You’re not sure what happened exactly to flip the switch, but something did.

You shake your head, lifting it to meet his eyes. “No. I’ll tell you when I want you to do something.”

He hears the shift too and he nods. “Yes ma’am.”

You like the sound of that.

With a heavy sigh, you cave.

Slowly, you strip your jacket from your shoulders. “Why weren’t you home on time?”

“I-I got caught up in paperwork--”

“We’ve talked about that, Aaron.”

“I know,” he replies, shameful.

“What should you have done?” you prompt him, hanging your jacket on the hook by the door. You spin around and cross your arms over your chest, waiting.

“I should’ve set an alarm,” he says. “Or three. To check in and keep myself aware of the time.”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Why didn’t you?”

“I forgot.”

You click your tongue. “Not a good enough answer.”

“I know,” he says quietly, hanging his head.

His head remains hung in shame as you walk over toward him, toeing off your shoes by the couch. Aaron registers the noise, but doesn’t lift his head until you tell him to.

“Look at me,” you murmur, standing in front of him, but not touching him. His hands are mere centimeters from your legs where they rest on his knees. You see him tighten his fists and you know he’s fighting the urge to reach out and touch you. “Lift your arms.”

Aaron does as he’s told, albeit confused. Until you sit down on his lap.

You face him, your breath caressing his lips. You reach up and guide his arms back down, looped around your neck.

“I would’ve had you tie them behind your back,” you comment, “but since you’re already like this, we’ll make do.”

He nods, looking into your eyes intently. It’s been so long since he’s kissed you. It’s torture for the both of you to have your faces this close, but not touching. It’s hurting you just as much as it is him, but you are determined to take your time.

You can feel him hardening beneath you, much quicker than you expected, but still it doesn’t surprise you. It’s been a while since the two of you have had sex, too. Not over the phone, at least.

You roll your hips, earning a low groan from the back of his throat. You smirk.

“I’m not sure what I want to do,” you muse, letting your fingers wander to the buttons on his shirt. You begin undoing them, one by one, while you speak. “I could take something that I’ve wanted for weeks. I could refuse to let you cum while I do it. Or,” you finish the last button and snake your cold hands over his warm, toned chest. “Or I could let you cum, on one condition.”

“What is it?” he asks quickly, already breathing hard. Between the way you’re sitting, straddling him, your scent, and your hands, he’s ready to burst. “I’ll do it.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” you chuckle. “It could be something you hate. Or not necessarily hate, but something you prefer not to do.”

At that moment, Aaron knows what you mean. And he doesn’t like it. But he also doesn’t like the alternative.

“Okay,” he says.

You grin. “Someone’s desperate.”

“You have no idea,” he replies.

“Believe me,” you snap. “I do.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry--”

“Be quiet,” you tell him, removing your hands from his chest, to instead work on removing your pants. “Lift your arms.”

He does, and you step back, stripping yourself of your pants and panties, kicking them away. He watches them wistfully, and you have to snap your fingers to bring his attention back to you.

You take your shirt off as well, loving the way his eyes darken when he sees you aren’t wearing a bra. And knowing that he can’t touch you.

You straddle him once more, noticing his bulge has gotten considerably larger.

If there’s one thing Aaron hates, it’s cumming in his pants. Especially when he could be touching your skin.

It makes a mess, sure, but the mess is always the least of his worries. He has them dry cleaned regardless. But it’s the pain. The agony. Being confined when you’re right there, stripped naked for him -- for yourself, really, because you’re angry with him right now. None of this is for him. This is all for you.

You guide his arms back around your neck, wanting to feel them there as you begin rocking your hips. You feel his muscles flex, the physical sign of his internal strife.

You’re sensitive on most days, but it’s especially bad when you haven’t felt him in a while. Just the feel of his dress pants against your core sends sparks through your entire body. Not to mention when you clit brushes against his belt.

You can’t stand it anymore, so you kiss him, hot and heavy, moaning into his mouth. He stretches his arms straight out, desperate for some relief. You pull him toward you by the back of his neck, your nails scraping his scalp.

His tongue easily finds yours and takes control. You let him, at least in this aspect, knowing he’s dying for it. You like it when he does, anyway, so this is an easy concession.

Your first climax comes soon, but it isn’t enough, so you don’t stop.

Without needing to be asked, Aaron goes for your neck, sucking and biting as you ride out your high. You keep his lips there, pressing your hand on the back of his neck. When the pressure is a little too hard, you hear him groan, and that’s enough to make you wild.

His hips jerk every now and again, the movement difficult on its own with the way he’s sitting and the way you’re grinding against him.

“I know you’re fighting it,” you murmur against his ear, sending chills down his arms. “You’re going to give in.”

The truth is, it is harder for him to climax when he’s constrained, but at the same time, he is fighting it right now. He hates that you noticed, that you know him well enough to catch it, but he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. You know him as if he is you. And the same goes for the way he knows you.

“Come on,” you press, lifting his head from your neck to look him in his eyes. Your lips brush against his as you say, “I want to hear you.”

He closes the gap between your lips with a fierce growl. The sound alone sends a wave of heat over your body, like molten lava poured overtop of you. You spread your legs wider, chasing your next climax, noticing for the first time how wet you’ve made the fabric of his pants. Or maybe some of it is from him, too.

“Let go,” you demand, lowering your hands to rake your nails over his chest. He shudders at the movement, his head falling onto your shoulder. His moans are broken, almost sobs. “Let me hear you, baby.”

You reach down and rub your clit, desperate to reach your climax at the same time as Aaron. Your sounds drive him over the edge.

He tenses, cries. His hips jerk in sync with yours, and you feel him twitch beneath you -- a harsh movement for you to be able to feel it through the layers.

You drive your hips down toward his, already cumming when he finally breaks, and climaxes with a shout. It lasts much longer than normal, purely because of how constricted his movements are.

“That’s it,” you murmur, pressing your chest against his, relishing in the sweet pleasure of your simultaneous highs. “That’s it, baby.”

He rests his head on your shoulder, his chest heaving.

“Are you okay?” you ask, chuckling a little when he nods.

“I’m great, I’m— Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Here, let me.”

“No, I got it,” Aaron flexes his wrists and the tie comes off, falling to the ground.

Your eyes widen. “That’s hot.”

“Really?” he laughs, smoothing his hands down your arms.

“Oh yeah,” you nod, holding his face. He’s still hard beneath you. “Continue in the bedroom?”

His only response is standing up, with you in his arms, carrying you down the hall for more ‘apologies’.

[seongsangsgf]

Ateez Reaction: Making out during a heated argument

tags/warning:suggestive, implied smut, arguments, slight angst, some reactions may be longer than others A/N:requested by @mypsh. This is so poorly written so I’m sorry if it didn’t turn out good 😭 my first reaction request. Credits to the owners of the gifs used here

Hongjoong

Hongjoong promised you that he’d be back by 10 so that he can spend some time with you for your anniversary. He was at the studio making another song for his group. It was already past 10: no sign of your boyfriend.

Now you already grew impatient, feeling like the plans for your anniversary were already falling through. You thought it’d be better to go to sleep since it was getting late. Just when you were about to sleep for the night, the door opened to reveal Hongjoong. When he saw everything that you prepared, he was heart broken.

He tried to explain why he was late but soon it led to the both of you arguing over how he almost forgot that it was your anniversary tonight as how he should’ve stayed home. That was until he saw the robe that you were wearing.

“M-May I?” He asked shyly, curious as to what you were wearing under that robe.

“Go ahead.”

When he was given the signal, he removed the robe, only to reveal lingerie that you bought just for him.

“Oh fuck…” he mumbled under his breath.

“What are you waiting for Joongie? Take me.”

“Will do.” And with that he crashed his lips onto you.

You both were in for a long night.

Seonghwa

The two of you were arguing about where to go out for your date. You wanted to go to a park while Seonghwa wanted to go to some fancy restaurant. He thought that it was more peaceful rather than going to a place where it was crowded.

You reminded me of the last time where the both of you attended a restaurant, he teased you under the table making you feel turned on. You had to admit though you did somewhat enjoyed his little games but at the same time felt a little humiliated. By then you decided to tease him yourself as payback by rubbing his crotch. He let out a low groan at the feeling of your hands stimulating him.

“What was that for?”

“I thought that I can play your ‘little game’ too. Two can play the game right?” You smirked at him.

He pinned you to the couch, making sure that you didn’t land too roughly, leaving some kisses on your neck.

“You just don’t know what you do to me baby.”

The date may have been canceled but at least something better than going to a restaurant or a park was yet to come.

Yunho

Yunho was having rough day at his job. He was caught in traffic earlier in the morning, missed the meeting because of it, accidentally spilling some coffee into one of his co-workers, which didn’t ended much well, and had to make 50 extra copies of papers.

When he came home you tried to help him out but he said that it was fine. You thought the opposite though. You told him that it’d be better if he were to talk about his day so that he would at least be over it, but he was still pushing you away as usual, leading the both of you to argue. You suddenly latched your lips onto him and eventually he gave into the kiss.

“I know you want me to help you out Yunho, I can see it in your eyes babyboy” you whispered seductively in his ear.

He nodded before letting you ‘take care of him’ for the rest of the night. By the time you two were done, he thought that you were the best stress reliever.

Yeosang

Ever since you gave Yeosang a PS5 as a Christmas gift, he had been glued to the gaming console more than ever. He’d often join group chats with his friends on there.

Eventually the two of you were becoming more distant from each other. You had to sleep on your own in your shared bedroom while Yeosang would end up sleeping on the couch in the living room due to the fact that he ended up oversleeping on there.

The two of you never spent time with each other since then. You grew tired of him ignoring you. You actually ended up unplugging the TV just when he was about to win his game of Call of Duty.

Yeosang was pissed to say the least and ended up telling you to stay away from him whenever he was playing his games. You counter-attacked his statement by saying that he hardly ever spoke to you.

When those words came out of your mouth he felt his heart shatter before patting his lap for you to sit on. He apologized for not being able spend more time with you and promised that he’ll pay more attention to you from now on.

“I forgive you Yeosangie.” You smiled at him before giving him a soft kiss.

If Yeosang had to be honest. He missed you and the way you were always affectionate to him. He carried you in bridal style to your bedroom, making sure to make up for lost time by treating you like a princess.

“Say, how about you wear that lingerie that I got you for Christmas?”

You two were both excited for this night to unfold.

San

It was San’s birthday and you were baking his cake when he ran into the kitchen and gave you a few kisses, being his usual energetic self.

San wanted to help you with the cake, saying that it wouldn’t be fair for you to just do the work all by yourself, to which you agreed. Baking a cake with your boyfriend wasn’t gonna do any harm right?

Well in the end the kitchen was a mess. Of course you couldn’t blame San for being all happy and excited during his birthday, but you wish he was a little more organized because you both did ended up in a dispute about how he shouldn’t be throwing flour at you.

The poor boy was sad. He didn’t want to make you upset and he just wanted to have some fun with you, but he didn’t think that he’d actually make you feel disappointed.

You gave San a hug and a kiss, letting him know that it was an accident and that he didn’t had the intention to make a mess in the kitchen.

San returned to his happy self until he saw some frosting on your half-exposed chest. He was tempted to have you as his birthday dessert rather than a cake, to which you insisted.

“Why have a cake when I can have you?”

God was San in for a treat.

Mingi

(this one is a little similar to HJ’s reaction) You were beginning to grow worried about where Mingi was, despite the fact that he told you that he’d stay at the studio with Hongjoong a little late. You were getting worried because the area that surrounded where the two of you live was dark.

There was a time where he almost got into a confrontation with someone in the ally and since then you became more concerned about Mingi’s safety.

When he got home the two of you went back and forth about him going home at a later time walking in the dark by himself. He thought that you were being too overprotective, reassuring you that he was strong and that he could handle it himself.

But soon he came to realize that you cared about him just like how he did. Mingi promised you that he’ll be more careful from now on.

Mingi noticed that you were still a little tensed so he decided that a little ‘make out session’ would clear your mind off of everything.

“Maybe I should make all of your fears disappear for tonight.”

Soon that make out session would lead to something else.

Wooyoung

You and Wooyoung were getting prepared for a ballroom dance competition. You both decided that it would be a sensual tango routine and there was 2 months left to prepare.

Now the dance wasn’t so easy to begin with. There was a lot of turns and lifts that had to be done for the dance to turn out good. There was a a part in the dance where Wooyoung is supposed lift you up do a 360 degree spin.

While Wooyoung tried to do his spin he almost spinned too fast to the point where he almost let go of you. Luckily you didn’t fell and he kept a steady grip so that you were safe, but of course you had to remind him that he had be more careful, only for the two of you to debate about who should’ve payed more attention and what not.

The both of you decided that it’d be better to take a break and come back to the routine later.

Luckily the argument ended when the two of you started your break and you were both back to getting along with each other, making sure to drink some water and eat some snacks.

During the break you’d thought that it be a good idea to try on the dress that you made for the day of the competition. It was a sequenced dress that had a slit cut on the right and a trail on the back. The color also matched Wooyoung’s oufit for the day of the competition.

When you came back with the dress on, Wooyoung was at a lost for words. E thought that you were looked very pretty.

He approached you in the middle of the room, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. You gave into him but eventually you were the one controlling the kiss.

“Oh Wooyoungie, I think you forgot who’s in charge, do you?”

And from there on, you both would have to come back to the dance some other time.

Jongho

You and Jongho both decided to watch a movie in the living room. The popcorn and blankets were ready. Now you both just needed to choose a movie that you want to watch.

Now here’s the thing: you both didn’t know whether to watch Titanic or Fast and Furious. Both of you would claim that one was too exaggerating while the other one was too graphic. But in the end both of you tried to find for another movie until the both of you decided to watch 50 Shades of Gray.

There was a steamy scene during the movie which caused your mind to think about recreating the scene with your boyfriend.

You were too lost in your mind that you actually ended up leaving some kisses on Jongho’s neck. Jongho would give you some kisses as well and eventually the two of you ended up making out on the couch.

“Movies were never really our thing right?”

In the end the both of you continued your session while the movie was playing in the background, rather doing the actual thing than seeing it on a screen.

[hajimewhore]

Body Swap 👫 (Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader) ➸Rated T, fem!Reader, 1.6k words  ➷Humor, fluff, awkwardness ofc  ➷ Masterlist, Part 1, ✈Part 2

Thankfully, Hajime’s parents had busied themselves in the morning. Probably out grocery shopping, he’d mentioned off hand.

With Hajime the one blindfolding you now, you can finally place yourself in his shoes, an uneasy humiliation enveloping your bones.

“We can’t exactly dress each other everyday for school, can we?”

You mumble, as Hajime lets you tug the loose tee overhead. It seems he wanted little to do with this dress up game scenario, while simultaneously attempting to save himself from the embarrassment of you catching an eyeful of his junk.

He pulls off the blindfold and stares with an uncomfortable expression and blush. You’ve been doing a lot of blushing today since... well, since you woke up in each other’s bodies.

“I guess not. But I’ll respect your body, don’t worry.”

He huffs, folding his arms across his chest.

A short gasp comes from his lips, clearly not used to having a set of breasts, and he pulls his arms away quicker than you’ve probably ever moved yourself. Hajime awkwardly settles for resting his hands at his hips, and you stifle the snort that threatens to escape.

“I trust you, Hajime. Don’t worry. And same goes for me! I won’t eat junk food before bed, and I’ll work out a lot too!”

You announce while fist pumping the air, and he rolls his eyes.

“You better. Come on, let’s go before my mom and dad get back.”

A lot of changes had to be made to accommodate your... new lifestyle.

You decided it was best to swap phones, considering you each have the same model and should probably be conversing with your classmates and friends with some sort of vague continuity.

You also had a rather short lived and awkward conversation about bathroom time and changing.

And on the way to the park, you discussed the people you each talked with the most in class, how to talk to them, and to take notes properly.

You’re thorough if anything, trying to make this awful situation as easy as you can possibly make it.

“This is exhausting... and we haven’t even gotten to play volleyball yet.”

You bounce the volleyball in the grass, huffing at the torture this body swap is turning out to be.

“At least you can spike, and have a mean serve. It would have been way worse for me if you were a libero.”

At least Hajime is looking on the bright side.

“We just have to get used to our bodies.”

You attempt to reason alongside him, amping each other up.

By the time the sun sets, you’re both panting in the grass next to each other. All former encouragements and hype lost, replaced by the dread of the coming Monday.

“We’re so fucked, I’m not used to being this tall, or having these limbs.”

You wave your arms around in the grass for emphasis, turning to gaze at your partner in this disaster.

“I feel like I’ve been launched back to middle school, it’s hard to get used to being short again.”

Hajime hums in agreement.

“I’m not that short! You’re just tall!”

“Not that tall!”

He grimaces, and you think you hear him mutter something about one more centimeter.

Before you can delve back to wallowing in misery, Hajime speaks up again,

“Whatever, we actually started doing pretty good by the end. It’s not the level we’re usually at, but I’m sure we can fake it in practice well enough. Chalk it up to being sick or something. We’ll be back to normal soon enough.”

Sitting upright, he musters a confident look that warms your chest. You’re glad he’s being optimistic, pushing away the negative thoughts that keep rearing up.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Now let’s get food, I’m starved.”

“Agedashi tofu is the best after practice.”

He’s gleaming, and you think it looks more natural on your face than the stern countenance that seems trademark to Hajime. Though, you do miss the rare occasions you got too see that expression on his normal face... so you make a mental note to take plenty of happy face selfies while you’re in this body.

You can’t help the soft laugh, imagining all the faces you could make in Hajime’s body he wouldn’t be caught dead making normally. When he eyes you warily, you shake your head and respond before he catches on to your plan.

“The katsudon here is way better, you’re crazy.”

You grin, mouth watering as you bring a pork cutlet to your lips.

When you bite in, it turns out to be less satisfying than you remembered. 

‘Weird, this place has really good katsudon.’

When you peer over at Hajime, he seems to be sharing a similar dilemma.

“How is it?”

You tilt your head up, gazing cautiously at him.

“It’s... okay.”

He frowns, can he seriously not enjoy agedashi tofu right now? Or was it just made bad?

“Right. Same here.”

The two of you pause, stewing for a second at the disappointment of your favorite meals, before both having the same idea to swap plates.

When you bite into your newly swapped dishes, you both simultaneously break out into wide grins.

“Whaaat, this is so good!”

“’katsudon’s not so bad either.”

You burst out into laughter, 

“I guess our tastes have been swapped too.”

“I was beginning to think this would just be a nightmare. But there’s some fun things involved.”

Hajime hums, taking another hearty bite from the katsudon. You smile at his enthusiasm, before returning to your dish.

 You continue to idly chatter about things that might be important to know, before walking home together.

When you reach the end of the street, Hajime almost makes the mistake of turning to the Iwaizumi residence. When he freezes, you realize you were equally ready to freely waltz into your own house.

You both awkwardly switch sides on the sidewalk, silently acknowledging the blunder with a light laugh.

“I’ll text you if I think of anything else. Have a good night,” you pause, “Y/N!” 

You wink at him, chuckling at the sour expression. If you thought referring to yourself as Hajime was weird, it’s even more unsettling to call yourself by name.

Hajime rolls his eyes before waving goodbye.

“Yeah yeah... Hajime. See you tomorrow.”

The interaction certainly is odd, but you laugh with a grin nonetheless. Despite the fucked up situation, it’s kind of cool to have a secret to share with Hajime.

You just hope it isn’t permanent.

When Hajime turns to the your household, he feels the nervousness come back full force.

The two of you spent all day with each other, not really worried about a stranger’s perception of them.

But now he has to deal with the people closest to you, your parents. And he’s actually quite fond of your parents, they’ve always treated him like the son they never had (as well as Oikawa), but he’s not exactly looking forward to living out their wish for a son vicariously through you.

He swings open the door, kicking his shoes off before stepping inside.

“I’m home!”

‘Remember to be enthusiastic, and keep that RBF in check!’ he hears your insistent reminder echo in his mind, almost catching himself scowling.

“Welcome back darling! Did you eat?”

He hears your mother’s voice from the kitchen.

“I had something to eat with Hajime.”

He sweats a little, your mom is oddly calculated, always in tune with your emotions. Sometimes even his, but there’s no way she’d figure out what was going on, right?

“Good. If you get hungry later, there’s left overs.”

He calls out a thanks, almost sighing in relief, looks like the panic was for nothing. 

Hajime casually (yet so, so, eagerly) heads for the stairs.

“Where are you going? Aren’t you going to say hi to Tooru? He and his mother came for dinner!”

WHAT.

“Y/N-chan! You and Iwa-chan were hanging out today? We’re you practicing volleyball?”

As if on cue, Oikawa rounds the corner and cuts Hajime off at the stairs, eyeing the athletic attire he’s wearing,

“I have something I want to practice more, you should’ve texted me.”

He huffs, arms folded as he leans against the stairway’s frame. Clearly a trick, Oikawa blew up both of your phones all day long despite being told you were busy. Hajime resists the urge to scowl at the backhanded comment. Brat.

Wait a second... how exactly do you talk to Oikawa again? Hajime should know, he’s spent a majority of his life with the two of you, but he’s currently drawing blanks.

He seems to have wracked his brain a little too long for a normal interaction, as Oikawa’s eyeing him again with an inquisitive look.

“Sorry... Tooru. You were sleeping in, and we both just happened to wake up early. Besides, you shouldn’t be practicing so much.”

He’s glad he didn’t let the ‘Shittykawa’ slip, that wouldn’t have been on brand for you at all. Out of habit though, he did punch Tooru in the arm.

“Yow! So mean, why are you hitting me?!”

Oikawa cries out, looking utterly scandalized as he rubs the sore spot on his arm.

“Because you deserve it.”

Hajime rolls his eyes, hopefully you won’t become aware of this interaction or he’ll get an earful from you. He’s still slightly convinced he’s an innocent bystander affected by some sort of cosmic punishment on Oikawa Tooru.

“Are you mad at me?!”

Hajime ignores Oikawa’s cry of complaint, jogging up the stairs. It’s hard being you, he grimaces as he beelines for the safety your room.

Finally in the comfort of privacy, he collapses into your sheets with a sigh of relief.

It could barely be considered a conversation with your mother, and Oikawa, but he’s already feeling mentally exhausted from the social exchange.

And tomorrow marks the start of the school week. Great.

Hajime slumps into your absurd amount pillows (seriously, you only need one). If he feels a little disappointed that he can’t recognize your scent anymore, he certainly doesn’t admit it, and definitely doesn’t entertain the intrusive thought longer than a moment.

A/N: I’m actually having so much fun with this au it’s adsklag;hj, I just like to watch my faves suffer in a chaotic mess I can not lie

Masterlist, Part 1, ✈Part 2, Part 3​

[kpopmultifan127]

Uhh i got one idea! You are good friends with Taeyong and you got into really bad fight (like reader doing something with other guy and Taeyong gets jealous) and then Boom Taeyong confesses. Sorry if these sounds messy but i’m just a sucker for angst with fluff ending :P

I’m all about the fluff haha! lets go! It’s kinda long haha sorry I was in the moment.

*DISCLAIMER* there’s drinking, drunk people, vomit and anger. please drink responsibly, DON’T DRINK AND DRIVE!

Taeyong, Y/N and their best friends Doyoung and Hyunjin were all getting ready to head out to a party. There was a party down at the dorms Hyunjin and Doyoung’s classmates stayed. They were all at y/n’s house getting ready...well more like she was getting ready.

Doyoung: y/n hurry up lets go! you always take forever!

Y/N: yeah yeah I’m coming! sheesh yall are so impatient!

y/n came out in something simple but yet cute enough to feel comfortable. y/n was wearing jean shorts with an oversized t-shirt tucked into the front, white white sneakers and her hair with brushed out curls.

Hyunjin: wow..

y/n: what are you gawking at?

Hyunjin: I’m not gonna lie you look hot!

Just after Hyunjin complimented y/n he felt a pillow hit him in the back of the head from across the room. Turning to see only Taeyong standing there with a glare in his eyes. Hyunjin and Doyoung knew Taeyong was madly in love with y/n and hated anytime any other guy would talk to her. He hated even when Hyunjin and Doyoung spoke to her even though they are all best friends.

Doyoung: finally sheesh lets get out of here! who’s driving?

y/n: ugh I guess I’ll drive because you all always end up drinking and I’m always stuck being the DD so I might as well volunteer now instead of later where I’m forced to drive.

As they all got into y/n car. Hyunjin sat in the front while Doyoung and Taeyong sat in the back. A conversation was going on in the back while there was an argument going on in the front. All Doyoung and Taeyong can hear is y/n and Hyunjin arguing on what song to play.

y/n: hey the driver gets to pick the music you punk ass!

Hyunjin: NO! It’s common sense that the passenger gets to pick the music! HELLO YOU’RE DRIVING!!

y/n: UGH YOU’RE SO ANNOYING WHY AM I FRIENDS WITH YOU?!

Hyunjin: because I’m perfect!

y/n just rolled her eyes and admitted defeat with him. Meanwhile in the back over the constant bickering of y/n and Hyunjin. Doyoung whispers to Taeyong..

DY: are you ok Tae? you seemed out of it today.

T: yeah I’m fine he says while glancing over at y/n.

DY: when are you going to tell y/n how you feel about her?

T: never...

DY: so you’re just never gonna say anything? 

T: i just don’t know how to tell her or when I should tell her....every time I try to I end up chickening out or I get interrupted by someone.

DY: well tonight is perfect..tell her at the party.

y/n noticed the chitter chatter in the back.

y/n: what the hell are you boys talking about back there?

D: nothing...just keep driving.

y/n: well excuse me for trying to be involved with yall.

They finally arrived at the party where they all headed inside. As they went in the party was already filled with so many people drinking, drunk people and dancing all over the place. y/n saw one of her classmates Jihyo drunk off her mind.

Jihyo: y/n! you made it! oh my god and you brought the 3 musketeers with you! hahaha!

HJ: .....hey Jihyo....where’s Johnny? Johnny was her boyfriend that always lost Jihyo when she drank.

J: he’s around here somewhere! yall don’t mind if I take y/n would you?! ok bye!!!

Once again y/n was ripped away from Taeyong who wanted a chance to sit and talk with her face to face. Everyone was having a great time, y/n dancing the night away with her friends as Taeyong watched from afar.

J: hey y/n! come have a drink with me!!!

y/n: no Jihyo. I’m the DD tonight...again.

J: ugh those damn guys never let you have your fun! come I want you to meet Johnny’s friends!

Taeyong watched as Jihyo dragged y/n across the room reaching to her bf Johnny and his friends.

J: hi babe!

as she tiptoed to her boyfriend to give him a peck on the cheek.

Johnny:....jihyo you are drunk again...

J: ...and? then you can just have your way with me again....

y/n: ....oh geez...hey johnny.

Johnny: hey y/n...oh this is my friend Jaehyun, he’s here visiting from Seoul.

y/n: hi I’m y/n.

Jae: nice to meet you.

They all were in the same spot talking stories and laughing. Taeyong across the room started to get irritated how y/n was smiling and having fun with another guy. She came with Taeyong, Doyoung and Hyunjin but is talking with someone else. It made him upset where he needed a drink.

DY: hey Tae what’s up? something happ---

Before Doyoung could finish his sentence he watched Taeyong gulp down 3 shots of tequila as if it was water to him.

DY: YAH YAH TAE SLOW DOWN!!! What’s gotten into you?!

T: she thinks she can just flirt with some guy in front of me like that?!

Doyoung confused and looking at the direction Taeyong was glaring at.

DY: y/n and Jaehyun?

T: you know him too?!

DY: yeah we went to school together for a little bit in Seoul until I moved back here. 

Moments later goes another shot down Taeyong’s throat.

DY: dude you need to slow down...you’re gonna blackout.

T: what does it matter anyway if I blackout or not....it’s not like y/n will care.

Hyunjin came and walked over to see what was going on with Doyoung and Taeyong.

HJ: what’s wrong with him.

Doyoung nodding in the direction y/n was standing.

HJ:....o--...oooh. oh shit...this can’t be good.

T: I’ma do something now! 

HJ: DUDE NO! YOU’RE DRUNK....SOBER UP BEFORE YOU TALK TO HER! OR YOU’LL REGRET EVERYTHING!

As Hyunjin and Doyoung held him back and pushing Taeyong back into a chair. The impact made the alcohol take in effect real quick and Taeyong became dizzy.

T: i think I need to throw up!

He gets up and sprints into the bathroom. Running passed y/n.

Johnny: that looked like Taeyong...is he ok?

y/n in her own conversation with Jaehyun and heard Taeyong’s name being mentioned.

y/n: HUH?! what?!

Johnny: yeah he just ran that way...

pointing in the direction Taeyong ran. y/n ran over to Doyoung and Hyunjin.

y/n: what happened to Taeyong?! is he ok?!

HJ: woah easy tiger...

y/n: where did he go?!

DY: he ran to the bathroom.

y/n: IS HE OK?! WHY AREN’T YOU HELPING HIM?!

HJ: he just had a little too much relax.

y/n: UGH THIS IS WHY I HATE LETTING YOU GUYS DRINK! 

y/n got so mad and ran off to find Taeyong. Running up and down the hall of the dorm looking for him and finally came to a room where he heard gagging noises. y/n whispers to herself “please let that be him and he’s ok” she peaked inside to see Taeyong with his head in the toilet letting everything he just drank come back up. She ran right to him and kneeling down next to him not even realizing she may have kneeled in some of the vomit he did when he missed the toilet. (lol sorry guys)

y/n: Tae are you ok?! oh my god!

she quickly grabs paper towel and texts Hyunjin to bring her water. Taeyong notices her presence and where she was kneeling.

T: y/n-- you’re kneeling in a bad spot right now.

y/n: never mind it’s fine. lets get you cleaned up and take you home.

T: no...lets stay and have fun.

y/n: you’re too drunk right now Tae.

Hyunjin came with a bottled water for her to give to Taeyong.

y/n: Hyunjin call Doyoung lets take him home. He’s gonna end up getting poisoned if he keeps drinking.

HY: yeah you’re right plus me and Doyoung gotta work in the morning anyway. 

He called Doyoung to help pick up Taeyong and bring him back to y/n’s car. They put him in the front seat where she can keep an eye on him. y/n laid him back a little bit so he can relax. Then reaches over to put a seat belt on him. Taeyong can smell her sweet perfume he had gotten her for her birthday recently, it smelled so perfect on her. Helping him sober a little bit. He can see the worried look on y/n’s face each time she glanced at him to see if he was ok. She end up dropping off Hyunjin and Doyoung off first.

DY: are you sure you’re gonna be ok taking him home? his roommate isn’t home this week and you’ll have to lug him up the stairs...

y/n: no I’ll just take him back to my house I’ll be fine.

HJ: ok please text us so we know you made it home.

y/n nodded and drove off. Moments later they arrive at her place. Walking over to Taeyong’s side and unbuckles his seatbelt. As she did what she could to lift him up. Grunting a little bit.

y/n: ...ok Tae I know you’re drunk right now but you’re gonna have to help me just a little bit. Lift yourself up to stand and you can rest your arm around my shoulder ok?

T:....o-ok.

He slowly gets up swinging his arm around y/n shoulder and she wraps both of her arms around his waist. Doing this gave him goosebumps up and down his spine feeling what it was like to be held by her. Step by step they got to the elevator of her apt building. Waiting as the elevator went up to the 6th floor where she lived.

y/n: ok Tae we are almost there hang on.

They got to her door as she reached for her keys while still holding Taeyong up with the other hand. She finally got the door opened looking around trying to figure out where to set him down. y/n decided her bed would be the best bet because the couch was going to be way too uncomfortable for him. Making their way to her room he can feel himself sober up little by little. He was strong enough to walk by himself.

T: I’m fine to walk by myself now.

y/n: are you sure? I’ll just hold you just in case.

T: ....but--I’m

y/n: not I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself. stop being so stubborn.

She helped him sit on the side of her bed. She texted Hyunjin and Doyoung letting them know they got to her place safely. After setting down her phone y/n started to walk away after helping him sit down. He grabbed her wrist.

y/n: don’t worry Tae I’ll be right back. I’m just getting you water.

He lets go of her hand. Taeyong sitting on her bed thinking, is this the time to tell her? Maybe not because he was drunk and he didn’t want to say things he’ll regret. But it was driving him crazy he didn’t know what to do. A few mins later y/n comes back with a bowl of cold water and some aspirin for him to take. She hands it to him and down the aspirin goes. y/n sets the cup of water on the end table and grabbing a towel that was near her bed. 

y/n: here lay down.

T: I’m fine really. The water is hel--

y/n: ARGH! Will you just listen to me and lay down.

He admitted defeat and slowly laid down on her bed. Which gave him butterflies in the stomach because it was the bed she sleeps on every night by herself. Wishing that someday he can sleep next to her keeping her warm. He watched her as y/n soaked the towel in the bowl of water and ringing out the extra water making it only damp. She turns to him and starts dabbing it on his forehead and down the side of his face. 

y/n: why did you drink so much? you’re not iron man dummy.

Taeyong just smiled.

T: I was mad...so it just happened.

y/n: why were you mad?

T: I don’t want to talk about it...

y/n: you know you can tell me anything. but if you don’t want to talk about it I won’t force you...

She continued to dip the towel in the water and dabbed him with it. He could feel that he had gotten a lot sober than he was before. y/n noticed the water wasn’t cold anymore so she got up.

y/n: I’m going to go change the water and make you some soup. I’m sure that’ll help sobering you up. You can just sleep here tonight and I can sleep on the couch.

T: why this is your bed. you should sleep in it, I can just sleep on the couch.

y/n: why are you always so stubborn. you’re gonna get a headache if you don’t sleep comfortably. I’ll be right back you just rest.

She got up and he once again grabbed her wrist.

y/n: what’s wrong? you need to go to the bathroom?

T: no...

Taeyong sat up against the headboard of the bed. He took a deep breath in and out before he spoke.

T: I need to tell you something.

y/n: you ok?

T: It’s something I’ve been wanting to say for such a long time.

y/n: ...ok what’s up.

He took one more deep breath in and out.

T: I really like you y/n...

y/n sat there in shock at the words that was just thrown at her.

y/n: you’re drunk you’re not thinking straight.

T: no I’m not. Well I’m not completely sober, but I well aware to the fact I meant what I said. Y/n I like you...no I’m in love with you. Always have been since the first day I met you...

y/n:...why are you only telling me this now?

He just sat there staring at his lap fiddling with his fingers and not making eye contact with y/n.

T: I’ve been wanting to tell you for quite sometime now, but I could never do it. Every time I tried to I either chickened out or someone interrupted.

y/n: is that why you were so mad today?

T: no...my jealousy came over me and I couldn’t take it, that’s when I drank whatever was in front of me.

y/n: why were you jealous?

T: I hated seeing you talk to that guy...

y/n: what guy? Jaehyun?

T: yeah...I hate it when you talk to any guy really.

It became quiet for a few mins...then y/n let out a soft giggle.

T: what’s so funny?

y/n: you’re such a dummy.

T: huh?

Taeyong lifted his head to face y/n...y/n looked at him with a smile as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Taeyong sat there frozen at his seat at what y/n just did. He thought to himself “did she just kiss me?!”

T: what was that for?

y/n then got shy and looked at her lap before she said....

y/n:...I like you too dork...no now I lied I love you. 

Taeyong couldn’t believe his ears, the girl he’s loved for so long loves him back.

T: you do?!

y/n:...I think I may have liked you longer than you think...

T: what do you mean.

y/n: remember when I was sitting by myself in the cafeteria because I was the new girl and you along with Hyunjin and Doyoung came and sat with me because you guys didn’t want me to feel lonely on my first day?

T: yeah....

y/n: that actually wasn’t the first time we met..

He began to become confused.

T: really?

y/n: the first time we met is when you came into the coffee shop I worked at and you were drenched because of the rain. but you didn’t care you because you told me it was because you caught your gf at the time cheating on you with her ex. when I brought you something warm to drink you just sat there watching the rain fall. 

y/n then looked down at her lap again as she continued.

y/n: I know it was a bad time to but that’s when I started to like you. Seeing you sad like that made my heart hurt, and I just wanted to hug you. But after that day I never saw you again. It wasn’t until you came and sat on my table. I fell harder for you because you were right in front of me, this time with a smile that always made my heart feel war--

Before y/n could finish her sentence Taeyong’s lips met hers. y/n could feel the butterflies in her stomach go crazy....she got to finally do what she’s been wanting to do since the first day she’s met him. 

T: When I saw you talking to Jaehyun and laughing I thought Iost you forever...

y/n: you wouldn’t have to worry about him at all....he has a girlfriend. and even if he didn’t my heart already belonged to someone else.

Taeyong leaned in again to give a soft kiss on her lips.

T: I love you so much y/n.

y/n: I love you too Tae.

He then scooted over on her bed and pulled her into his arms. Throwing the blanket over both of them. Her head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped around her. The heartbeat of his made y/n smile as hers beat at the same pace as his. She looked up at him and smiled as he kissed her on the forehead and one last time on her lips.

y/n: lets get some sleep you party animal.

A soft giggle came out of him as he squeezed her tighter. and said “I love you” once last time as they drifted off to sleep.

[flauntpage]

The Five-Buck Bump of Cocaine That Destroyed an Olympic Dream

In the early afternoon on a Monday in May, Eric Thompson is at his home in Marion, Illinois, getting ready for work. The door is unlocked and he scurries from his twin daughters' bedroom to wave me inside. His daughters, Avery and Emersyn, a year and a half old, follow closely with their bright blue eyes and giant smiles. Nickelodeon cartoons play on the TV near the door.

We go over the day's plan while Thompson, 28, cuts up a salameat sandwich for the girls. We're going to drive the 55 miles through southern Illinois to the coal mine where Thompson works. By the time we figure out the logistics, the meat is cut into bite-sized pieces and served in Tupperware so the girls can eat on the run.

Thompson changes out of his morning Under Armour leisurewear and into his work clothes: dark jeans, a gray undershirt, and a bright yellow top, all trimmed with reflector tape. By now his girlfriend Haley Williams is busy corralling the girls as they zoom around the house on little scooters, falling and laughing. At one point, Thompson picks up both his girls and puts one on each shoulder, bouncing up and down the house.

By 1 PM, it's time to leave. As we step out the door, Avery and Emersyn start crying in unison, as if it is choreographed. Thompson says they do this every time. It's the main reason he hates working the second shift. On first shift, he leaves before they wake up.

Thompson's drive to work takes a little more than an hour down two-lane roads through small towns like Pickneyville and Desoto, all populations under 5,000, some in the triple digits. Road signs warn of horses and buggies. Some of the smaller roads off our route are still flooded from a recent storm.

When we get to the mine's office and equipment area, Thompson introduces me to a few of his coworkers; he told them I'd be coming. When Thompson goes off to get his equipment, one of the older guys jokes that he doesn't know why I singled him out. "Everyone here is a has-been. We were all good at something." A big banner hangs from the wall to our right: 140 Days Without An Accident.

At 3 PM, Thompson and most of the others load up into small school buses for the 45-minute drive down the mine. Thompson is a roof bolter, meaning it's his job to secure the seven-foot-high tunnel so it doesn't collapse as the drilling machines go deeper. The crew stay underground for nine hours, emerging just shy of midnight, coated in black, and visibly exhausted. But upon seeing me, Thompson still manages a tired version of his typical enthusiastic greeting: "A.G.!" It takes him about a half-hour to wash the coal off in the shower, which he likes to do before he gets home. He pulls into his driveway at 2 AM.

On the short walk from his truck to his bed, Thompson passes two road signs hanging on his porch that used to be displayed on the edge of town, reminders that this isn't the life he envisioned. "Eric Thompson USATF Junior Olympic HJ National Champion," one boasts. The other begins, in big block letters, "HOME OF ERIC THOMPSON." He stole the signs almost a decade ago. By then, he was no longer the pride of his hometown. For all he knows, no one even noticed the signs were gone.

In 2007, the United States Anti-Doping Agency, better known as USADA, tested 3,350 athletes during competitive events. Approximately 15, depending on how you count, tested positive for a banned substance. Eric Thompson, then a high school athlete, was one of them.

It often gets lost in the flurry surrounding the press releases announcing a positive test, but behind every one is an athlete who has put his or her entire soul into a sport. Regardless of the circumstances, a positive test can, and usually does, derail a career. For every prospective Olympic athlete who tests positive and then gets another opportunity to compete at an elite level, there are people like Thompson who never make it back to the heights of their sport. They're branded cheaters by the black-and-white anti-doping authorities who push binary rhetoric despite a rulebook filled with gray areas.

When I asked Thompson's father what he wanted people to learn from his son's case, he simply said, "Imagine if it was your kid."

The signs used to be displayed on the edge of Thompson's hometown. Now, they hang on his porch. Photo by Aaron Gordon

Thompson grew up in Herrin, a southern Illinois town of about 11,000 surrounded by farmland and coal mines. His dad, Larry, left school in his early teens and worked as a roofer; his mom, Barbara, worked for a local business. They were always able to put food on the table, but money was a constant worry. Starting in seventh grade, Thompson made a little extra cash by helping his neighbors, the Brandons. Every morning until the day he left Herrin, he would wake up at 6 AM and head over their house to do chores like scooping chicken shit out of the coops where the Brandons' 40 show chickens lived.

Eric was the middle of Larry and Barbara's three sons, and all three boys' lives revolved around sports. The Thompsons converted the large field next to their house into whatever playing field the season demanded. Football in the fall, baseball in the spring, basketball whenever. Larry was a Little League coach for all three of his sons.

While all three Thompson boys were outstanding athletes, it was clear to Larry that Eric was gifted, even from a young age. In baseball, Thompson officially played shortstop but unofficially covered left field, too, because he knew that the left fielder couldn't catch. He could dunk by the time he reached high school. During his junior year, Herrin's baseball coach asked him to throw a few from the mound just to see if he could help the team. Thompson hadn't played on a baseball team since eighth grade, but he clocked 90 miles per hour on the radar gun while staying in the strike zone.

Thompson was a football guy until eighth grade. He started on the football team at wideout and safety; his combination of speed, vertical leap, and big, muscular hands made him impossible to cover. "There's no doubt in my mind … he had a future in college football," his high school football coach, Jason Karnes, recalled when Thompson was inducted into Herrin High School's Hall of Fame in 2013, adding Thompson was tough to bring down once he had the ball, calling him a "hard-nosed player." In high school, Thompson won a meet with a sprained ankle swollen so severely it was thicker than his calf. Another time, he competed just after getting his wisdom teeth pulled, with the gauze still stuffed in his gums, cheeks the size of a golf ball.

But everything changed a few days before the Illinois state track and field championships in eighth grade. At the time, he was a good high jumper, but not a great one. He won meets jumping 5'8" or so, nothing spectacular. Before states, his middle school high jump coach, Eric Smith, asked him to try a different approach that took advantage of his raw athleticism. Rather than approach the bar as if following a giant "C" on the ground, Thompson followed a "J," tightening his angle so he could generate more speed and power.

Thompson felt the improvement immediately. His new approach was smoother, natural, and explosive. The first time they practiced it, he cleared six feet. At the state championships, he and his coaches further tweaked his approach on the fly. Maybe a step back, see how that feels. OK, go with it, maybe another step back again? He jumped 6'5", shattering the previous state record of 6'3 1/8". He went on to win the 2003 Junior Olympics a few months later with a jump of 6'4.75".

A photo of Thompson standing under the bar after setting the Illinois state record. Photo courtesy of Eric Smith

Thompson didn't improve as much during the track season his freshman year of high school, perhaps because he didn't have a high-jump coach. After the season was over, Smith, who previously didn't coach at the high school level, resumed coaching him and took him to the 2004 Track City Internationals in Eugene, Oregon, that summer. Working with a modified approach that included 12 steps toward the bar instead of the more common eight, Thompson won the meet with a new personal best of 6' 9.1", beating the runner-up by a full seven inches. If he had competed in the Junior Olympics that year and jumped a similar height, he would have won that, too. After that, Smith became the high school jumps coach so he could resume coaching Thompson full-time.

By his sophomore year, Thompson's jumps overshadowed every other event at local meets. At an indoor meet in January 2005, Thompson attempted seven feet. The local paper reported that, prior to a Thompson jump, the gym erupted in such a fervor that the 1,600-meter race couldn't begin; it was too loud to hear the starter pistol. Finally, the official lowered his hand, dropping any pretense the race would start, so the runners watched Thompson. He cleared it and the place went nuts. After a few minutes, everyone settled down and the 1,600-meter race began. As the runners circled the track, Thompson went for 7'1". The newspaper article cites one coach who claims to have seen a runner, Max Schloemann, stop completely so he could watch Thompson's attempt; Schloemann denied this, but did admit to slowing down and losing his focus (he finished 44th). Either way, Thompson missed the jump. "Should've had it," Thompson still says.

Some high jumpers psyche themselves up before their jumps, bouncing around, getting the crowd pumped up, taking a few seconds (or, in some cases, much longer) to mentally prepare. Thompson eschewed the theatrics. Instead, he would simply walk to the bar, look up at it, then walk away and begin his approach. In official event materials for the 2005 Junior Olympics, Thompson was quoted as saying, "You have to stay focused on the bar and nothing else."

The college letters started coming after Thompson cracked seven feet. At first, he got together with his track coach, Chad Lakatos, to review them every Friday. Before long, Lakatos's mail cubby at Herrin High filled up before Friday, so they'd have to do it every few days. Then every day. By his junior year, the school didn't know what to do with all the letters, so every Friday Lakatos handed Thompson a tote bag full of the week's letters and recruiting materials.

Despite the flood of offers, Thompson only considered going to two colleges: Arkansas and Florida. He anguished over the choice. Florida seemed like a place he could enjoy his college experience more, but Arkansas had a better program and both of his coaches thought it was a better fit. Ultimately, he chose Arkansas so he could work with Dick Booth, the field events coach since 1988 and a legend in the sport. With Booth's instruction, Thompson thought he had a real shot to add a few inches to his personal best and perhaps make the 2008 Olympic team. His coaches agreed. This wasn't some mere adolescent pipe dream.

After committing to Arkansas on a full athletic scholarship, Thompson wrapped up his high school career in style, taking three individual medals—in high jump, triple jump, and long jump—plus one relay at the Illinois state championships. In total, Thompson won 11 state medals during his high school career, set the state high jump record at 7'2", his personal best, and won multiple Junior Olympics.

Entire track meets would pause to watch Thompson jump. Photo courtesy of Eric Smith

On a warm summer night in 2007, Thompson celebrated his career by going to a graduation party at a friend's house. He played beer pong and Call of Duty. A little after midnight, someone proposed getting some cocaine from a hook-up. Everyone chipped in five bucks, just enough for each person to take a small bump off the tip of a key. Thompson barely felt anything. Five bucks wasted, he thought.

The next day, Thompson left with Lakatos and an assistant coach for Indianapolis, where the Junior Outdoor Track & Field Championships would begin the following morning. Thompson and his coaches had debated whether he should compete in that meet or the 2007 Junior Olympics which were held simultaneously. Smith wanted Thompson to compete in the Junior Olympics again, since it was the last year he would be eligible for the Under-18 event; he could still enter the Outdoor Championships the following summer as a 19-year-old. Lakatos preferred the Outdoor Championships because it was a more prestigious event and offered qualification for the biennial IAAF World Junior Championships (now called the World U20 Championships). It wasn't a consideration for anyone at the time, but the Junior Olympics didn't do anti-doping testing (they started in 2009). The Outdoor Championships did.

Thompson didn't perform particularly well in Indianapolis, but his final 6'10.75" jump was good enough for second place. Afterward, a man came up to him. He said that he was from USADA, and that Thompson had been selected for an in-competition drug test.

This was Thompson's first drug test. He had never been selected in the random tests at his high school or at any state meets. His coaches—a part-time high jump coach who worked for free, and a young, talented but then-inexperienced head coach—knew almost as little about anti-doping protocols as he did and, according to both coaches and Thompson, they never spoke about drug use beyond vague D.A.R.E-inspired platitudes. Thompson barely even knew what USADA was.

Thompson informed Lakatos that he had been selected. "We don't have anything to worry about, do we?" the coach asked. Thompson assured him they didn't. By then, it was too late to say anything. Once a doping control officer makes contact with an athlete, he or she cannot leave the officer's sight without providing a sample.

There are differing accounts about when this conversation took place. After the USADA hearing for Thompson's case, the arbitrator wrote that it happened in the car on the way to Indianapolis as Thompson reviewed event materials that stated the first- and second-place athletes would be tested, which piqued his concern, and that he didn't say anything about cocaine to his coach because of "youthful nervous embarrassment," not the presence of a doping officer. But that's not how Lakatos remembers it—both he and Thompson insist today that the conversation occurred at the meet, after Thompson was approached about the test. Regardless, Thompson told me he didn't think he had anything to confess. He hadn't doped. His performance wasn't enhanced. He barely even did any coke. If he didn't feel anything, surely it wouldn't show up in his sample.

A month later, the test results came back. One of Thompson's brothers brought in the mail and put the envelope on his bed, where Barbara, his mom, found it while cleaning his room. Thompson was out fishing with a friend when he got a call to come home. He walked through the door to find his mom in tears. She's not the type to yell or get angry. Instead, she cries, which for Thompson is so much worse. He knew the second he saw her what had happened.

Thompson tested positive for benzoylecgonine, a metabolite of cocaine. He and his family remember it as "benzo-something." As a signatory of the World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA) Anti-Doping Code, USADA enforces a ban from virtually any high-level sports competition for up to two years for a first-time anti-doping offense for stimulants.

Nobody in the Thompson family knew exactly what any of this meant. It seemed absurd to Thompson that a bump of cocaine that seemingly had no effect on him two days before the meet would jeopardize his college scholarship and athletic future. He knew it would carry consequences, but couldn't imagine it ruining his career.

Barbara, however, had the opposite reaction. Athletic scholarships are awarded on an annual basis. Why would Arkansas give a scholarship to someone who couldn't compete? She demanded Thompson find out the next steps. So he went into his room, locked the door, and called USADA.

Thompson was suspended immediately, but he had the option to appeal and have his case heard by a neutral arbitrator. USADA recommended several lawyers who could represent him, but Thompson remembers being quoted an estimated cost upwards of $20,000. Not that they could have afforded those fees under normal circumstances, but Barbara had also recently lost her job. Without her income, they were barely making ends meet as it was. Eventually, Thompson was connected to the Valparaiso University Sports Law Clinic, which provides no-fee legal services to amateur athletes who cannot afford representation, and with their help he filed for an appeal.

That January, Thompson began classes at Arkansas (having deferred enrollment for a semester for academic reasons unrelated to his ban), but on January 22, 2008, he took the bus up from Fayetteville and met his dad in Indianapolis, where the appeal hearing was held. From there, they went to a hotel; a Clarion or Holiday Inn, they can't remember which.

There's a lot from that time Thompson has blocked from his memory, but he can recount for me with exact precision how he got from the hotel entrance to the conference room that had been booked for the hearing. "You walk in through the doors"—he jabs his hand forward while recalling what he calls the worst day of his life—"turn left"—his wrist swivels accordingly—"and there was a cafeteria. You turn right right before you walked into the cafeteria, and then took another right. And there was a big conference room."

Inside, tables were arranged in a rectangle: USADA on one side, Thompson, his dad, and their lawyers on another, the arbitrator on a third, and the fourth side empty.

"Something like this ain't about to happen to me over what I did. There's no fuckin' way. It just ain't how life is."

Over the next several hours, lawyers questioned Thompson and his father; Lakatos, Booth, and a toxicology expert were also questioned over the phone. The expert testified that cocaine could only provide a performance-enhancing effect if ingested minutes before a meet. There was no debate over the idea that Thompson's cocaine use had no positive effect on his jumps. USADA's lawyers accepted it as fact.

Instead, the success of Thompson's appeal hinged on the question of whether he was at "significant fault" for taking a banned substance. The legal definition of "significant fault" was as vague as it sounds. At the time of the hearing, a situation like Thompson's had never occurred in the four years that WADA's anti-doping code, of which USADA was a signatory, had been in place.

So with nothing else to go on, the hearing became about Thompson's character. Were his parents around for his games growing up? Were they involved in his life? Had he used drugs before? Did he get in trouble at school? Was he was a good student? At one point, Thompson was overwhelmed by the proceedings. His past was being scrutinized to determine if he had any future. Feeling light-headed, he put his head in his hands. "Mr. Thompson," he remembers someone at another table saying, "I think you need to pay attention to what we're saying right now."

"What I couldn't get over," Thompson recalls now on his porch, "was how small of a decision that I made will change the rest of my life." He thought this kind of thing happened to other people. Bad people. People who hurt others or cheat or steal.

"Something like this ain't about to happen to me over what I did," he remembers thinking. "There's no fuckin' way. It just ain't how life is."

For more than four hours, lawyers for both sides bickered over technical definitions. IAAF ADR Rule 40.3 and 40.1(a). Was Thompson at "no significant fault" or "significant negligence"? "When viewed under the totality of circumstances…" "Only in cases where circumstances are truly exceptional…." What does that mean? Articles 10.5.1 and 10.5.2 of the WADA Anti-Doping Code? This was all legal jargon to Eric and Larry Thompson. Yet, it was Eric's future. The people in the room with the most at stake were also the ones who had no idea what was going on.

Over a dinner of barbecue chicken with the Thompson family this spring, I ask Larry what he thought of the hearing. "I thought it was such a fucking piece of shit," he begins. "I was so pissed off. I didn't understand." He follows with a minute-long tirade filled with so much venom he can only get out a few words at a time. "There was nothing that… and they were making a bunch… I was just so frustrated… nothing meant anything… it didn't enhance… it didn't enhance"—he stands up—"didn't enhance nothing! His performance. Anything!"

Both Eric and Larry came away from the hearing with one overarching impression: this wasn't about them. They were caught in a system meant for something or somebody else. "We just wanted an answer," Larry says as his monologue comes to an end. "I don't know what you guys are talking about or why you're talking about or what you're even doing and why. Does. My. Son. Get. To. Jump?"

At the end of the hearing, a USADA representative gave Thompson a copy of Quiet Strength by Tony Dungy, the former Indianapolis Colts head coach—an inspirational book written by about "the principles, practices, and priorities of a winning life," heavily influenced by Dungy's fervent Christianity. The Thompsons are not religious. They still have the book, but not because they enjoyed it.

Nine days after the hearing, the arbitrator—who said he remembers the case well but declined to comment for this article—made his decision. "Mr. Thompson is a naive young man, a virtual stranger to national athletic competition, who wandered briefly onto that stage without any material guidance from support personnel," he ruled, adding that Thompson "is a humble and contrite person who recognizes the magnitude of his mistake and accepts its serious consequences." He found that Thompson's youth and inexperience with anti-doping rules were "relevant mitigating circumstances in the case of a young athlete with no available informed guidance." Therefore, he reduced Thompson's ban from two years to one, the minimum length allowed under WADA's sentencing rules. Thompson would be allowed to compete again on July 18, 2008.

USADA accepted the decision. When asked about Thompson's case, Ryan Madden, a spokesperson for USADA, said that Thompson was fully cooperative throughout the process and quite obviously regretted his decision. "At the end of the day, everyone makes mistakes and this was just an unfortunate situation where a high school athlete made a bad choice and ended up having to be held accountable under the (WADA) code."

But WADA didn't agree. Three weeks after the arbitrator's decision, WADA appealed the ruling. Either party had the option of appealing the case one last time to the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS), akin to the Supreme Court for sports. And although WADA didn't participate in the first hearing, USADA is a signatory of the WADA code, so WADA is technically a party to any decision that affects its enforcement.

However, WADA didn't ask for another hearing. They wanted to submit the exact same evidence to CAS for consideration by three new arbitrators and revert the ban back to its original two years (USADA declined to take part in the appeal). WADA believed that accepting the reduced sentence would "create a loophole" wherein any athlete could claim "no significant fault" or "significant negligence" by blaming their coaches or being under a certain age. In addition, WADA argued that because the substance in question was an illegal street drug, Thompson shouldn't be allowed to claim negligence.

As the WADA appeal moved forward, Thompson returned to Arkansas. Since first learning about the positive test, Booth assured Thompson that his scholarship wasn't going anywhere for the 2007-08 season. The arbitrator's decision had been a relief—Thompson could compete again in the fall of '08—but WADA's appeal put his future seasons in jeopardy again.

Thompson already had encountered some issues not long after arriving at Arkansas. Even if he couldn't compete, Thompson thought he could still be part of the team, but the head track and field coach, John McDonnell, told him that would not be the case. Thompson could use the facilities, have his Arkansas gear and apparel, but he couldn't participate in team functions or practices. He'd live with football players, not track guys. He checked in with Booth every day, but otherwise his link to the team was tenuous at best. Thompson didn't know why this was happening, yet he felt he had no choice but to accept it. The University of Arkansas Athletic Department declined to comment for this article or to make McDonnell or Booth available for interview. Other attempts to reach McDonnell and Booth, both of whom have since retired, were unsuccessful.

What Thompson hadn't realized coming into the program was that Arkansas track and field was dealing with a scandal of its own. In October 2007, the NCAA sanctioned Arkansas for impermissible benefits provided to sprinter Tyson Gay by a former assistant coach. The NCAA stripped the men's program of two national championships and placed it on three years' probation. Arkansas had also stripped itself of three track and field scholarships when it first self-reported the violations to the NCAA.

To this day, Thompson is adamant that this was the reason for his treatment at Arkansas. He and his mother both say that Booth relayed McDonnell's displeasure with Thompson's enrollment to them. With his program already in hot water, McDonnell saw Thompson as a potential troublemaker the program could ill afford while on probation. Further, Thompson was on a full scholarship while other track and field athletes competing in tournaments were on partial scholarships. From the moment he got there, Thompson felt like he was merely taking up space.

Meanwhile, the positive drug test meant Thompson was now part of the USADA out-of-competition testing pool and, as mandated by the arbitrator's ruling, he had to join the university substance abuse program. Every quarter, he was required to inform USADA where he would be every single day for that time period. Thompson remembers getting tested multiple times a week, although USADA says they only tested Thompson once during his suspension. The other tests were likely part of a university or NCAA program. Arkansas declined to comment for this article. The NCAA did not return a request for comment.

Placed under so much scrutiny, Thompson failed to build any semblance of camaraderie with his teammates. When he wasn't living and training apart from them, Thompson says, he was being ignored by them. He felt like they resented him, like he had received a courtesy invite to a party and showed up even though no one truly wanted him there.

Not long after he started classes, Thompson was cited by his RA for having an empty wine bottle in his room. McDonnell called Thompson into his office. "This is everything you shouldn't be doing," Thompson remembers him saying. Another time, Thompson arrived 20 minutes late for a 6 AM drug test. Booth helped coordinate a test later in the day so it didn't count as a missed test, but McDonnell called Thompson to his office again.

This time, Thompson says, McDonnell concluded that he hadn't "earned" the right to wear the Arkansas logo and demanded he return every Arkansas-branded piece of clothing and equipment until his suspension ended and he proved he wouldn't give the program another black eye. Thompson also lost privileges to the Razorbacks workout facilities.

Before he arrived in Fayetteville, for the better part of four years Thompson's life was track. Both of his high school coaches attested to his unwavering dedication to the sport, with Smith at one point playfully mimicking Thompson's daily haranguing: "Let's go jump, coach. Let's go jump, coach. Let's go jump, coach."

Thompson enrolled at Arkansas because he thought it was the responsible choice for his athletic career. But now, practicing alone and working out in the rec center, Thompson wondered if he made the wrong decision. For the first time in his life, he felt like he wasn't an athlete.

Thompson would constantly bug his high school jumps coach, Eric Smith (pictured) to practice. Photo courtesy of Eric Smith

He was also homesick. He missed his mom's home-cooked meals, the nightly dinners with the family, playing with his brothers. Thompson refused to admit it to his parents. It was his burden to bear, he figured. His mom, of course, saw right through the façade. She heard his voice over the phone and knew something wasn't right. More than anything, she just wanted her son to be happy, and he wasn't. It hurt her to know he had achieved so much but still felt so empty. "If you need to come home," she told him, "come home."

So during spring break, he did. Just after he arrived at his parents' house, Thompson remembers getting a call. It was from the doping control officer who had been testing him in Arkansas. No, he thought. They just tested me. It can't be. He ignored the call. His phone rang again. Ignored again. Under NCAA rules, a missed test counts as a positive result, which would lead to a two-year ban.

His phone rang again. This time it was Booth. "Where you at?" the coach asked. "We just left your dorm, we gotta find you."

"I'm in Herrin. I went home."

Click. Booth hung up.

Two days later, Thompson returned to Arkansas. Booth arranged for him to meet an advisor who worked for the athletic department. The man told Thompson, first thing, "They're probably not going to want you here anymore."

After the meeting, Thompson called his parents. He was coming home for good.

On June 25, 2008, the panel of arbitrators ruling on the CAS appeal rejected WADA's reasoning and upheld the arbitrator's original decision; the panel included Richard McLaren, who would later be called upon by WADA to investigate the Russian doping scandal in 2015. Thompson's circumstances truly were unique, they ruled, and worthy of a reduced ban.

In effect, it meant that Thompson had only a few weeks remaining under USADA suspension. But because the missed NCAA test over spring break counted as a positive test, he was still banned from NCAA competition for two years.

The next two years were desperate times for Thompson. He enrolled at Mckendree College, outside of St. Louis, in what he now realizes was a subconscious effort to delay the inevitable. Because Mckendree was a NAIA member and not in the NCAA, he could still compete in their tournaments. Due to a combination of injury and depression, he jumped poorly. After one year, McKendree moved up to Division III in the NCAA, meaning Thompson could no longer compete. He had nowhere else to go, no other options to explore. He returned to Herrin, got a small apartment, and found a job at Walmart.

For the better part of two years, Thompson shuffled between his job and his apartment, smoking weed and drinking himself to sleep. He's ashamed to admit what he was going through at that time, mostly because he doesn't want it to reflect poorly on his loved ones who did their best to help him. Just like at Arkansas, he tried to keep the depression bottled inside. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about what happened, but that's all anyone asked. He got tired, stopped going out in fear of those conversations, but at home, drunk and alone, he'd see the high bar. He'd think about his approach. He'd relive the 7'2" jump.

He'd second-guess everything, going over again and again in his head all the decisions that led him to working at Walmart instead of representing Team USA. He could have just thrown the jump, finished outside the top two and never been tested. He could have gone to the Junior Olympics. He could have gone to the University of Florida. And, of course, he could have not chipped in those five dollars.

Still clinging to the hope of some athletic future, Thompson made a desperate attempt in cage fighting, but it didn't take. He couldn't fit the rigorous training necessary into his work schedule. Instead, he spent most of his time figuring out how to come up with $400 a month for rent, which made him depressed, which led him to drink and get high, which made him need more money.

At one point, he called up the Brandons, the old couple whose chicken coops he used to clean. They had always thought the world of him, and he loved them back. He felt guilty for not visiting them before, but he couldn't face them. When he went to their place, they were so excited to see him, and he was truly excited to see them, but that's not why he was there. He asked them for money. They gave him $200. "It felt like shit," he says.

As he recalls this time while sitting on his porch, Thompson's voice drops to a slow mumble. He slumps in his chair and his eyes narrow, a shadow of his normal gregarious, energetic self. But he perks up, just a little bit, to make one point: He never thought about killing himself. Not once. But, "I can see why somebody would do that," he says while taking a sip of beer. "You know, somebody like me. Who is completely lost, don't have a clue, everything you thought your life was.… Then you have to literally start from scratch in a poor fucking city, a poor town, poor parents, poor everything, you don't have a degree, you don't have nothin'."

After he turned 21, a conversation with his mom made Thompson realize it was time to grow up and accept his athletic career was over. For someone like him in Herrin, there are only two options to make a decent living: work a connection to get a job in one of the local unions, or work in the coal mines. And he didn't know anyone in a union.

He called his Uncle Jerry, who worked in the mines. Uncle Jerry loaned him $150 to take coal-mining classes. He paid Uncle Jerry back with his first paycheck.

Thompson has worked in the mines for five years now. During that time, he met Williams and they had his twin daughters together. Marriage is on the way. Thompson hasn't thought much about his extinct track career recently. In fact, he had never told anyone the whole story from beginning to end until I stumbled upon his case as a footnote while researching a recent anti-doping decision. I messaged him on Facebook and, after a short phone call, he decided he was finally ready to tell his story. When we sat on his porch that warm afternoon in late April, Williams was with us, too, listening and periodically asking questions of her own.

The following day, Thompson expresses his relief as we drive over to his parents' house. Finally telling the whole story helped him sort through his complicated feelings. He harbors a great sense of personal responsibility for what transpired—"I should have made it work," he says over and over regarding his time at Arkansas—but can't shake the idea that so much was outside of his control or just bad luck. Acknowledging that tension helps him make peace with it.

Before we leave to go to his parents' house, he asks if I want to see the high school track where it all began. When we get there, the twins run around and splash in the puddles remaining from the storm. As we walk over to the high jump area, Thompson lets out a little laugh. "I didn't know they moved those here." On the front of the maintenance garage hang more road signs with his name, ones that he didn't take.

Thompson demonstrates his approach to the high jump bar, then he goes to the long jump, where his daughters are goofing around in the sand pit. He shows them how to do the jump, and one of the girls—I still can't tell them apart—follows suit, leaping from the track to the sand and throwing her arms out, just like her daddy.

"Thank God everything happened," Thompson says. This is the version of his life that has his girls. But still, the tension lingers. "It didn't have to go down that way."

Thompson plays in the damp long jump pit with his daughters. "Thank God everything happened." Photo by Aaron Gordon

The drive up to the mine is beautiful. On the day we drive together, the sun breaks through the remnants of a recent storm. Sprawling dandelion fields beside the road blur past. The wind wags the tree branches back and forth. Not too far from the mine, we pass a large barn-style house that sits atop a rolling hill a few hundred yards back from the road. Beside the house is a big red barn that looks like it belongs in a kid's book. Crops grow to one side and a big open field looms on the other. Thompson stares at it for a few seconds. He'd like to live in a house like that one day, he says. The girls could run out the front door and play and he wouldn't have to worry. He'd be close to work so he could spend more time with them. They could have a childhood like his: spend all day outside, run around in the mud, and get called in for dinner from the back door.

About a month later, my phone rings. "AG!" he hollers, prolonging each vowel of my initials. He's on his way to work, which reminds me of a question I've been meaning to ask. "Remember that house you talked about that you'd like to live in? Was that the first time you noticed that house?"

"Oh no," he replied in a tone that conveyed neither fancy nor imaginativeness. "I look at that house every day, bud. Every day."

The Five-Buck Bump of Cocaine That Destroyed an Olympic Dream published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv