#while practicing my facial expressions in a mirror and lip syncing to songs on my YouTube autoplay

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Progress pic of my descent into round insanity:

It’s just going to be one circle, all sc, increased every round (very, very, very very very very, veryveryvery………………… very… carefully)

[lovehotelreservation]

HELLO CHELL! It's my time as a Sylvain stan to make my summer comeback! (ㆁᴗㆁ✿) [왜 예쁜 날 두고 가시나 ? // Why are you leaving a beautiful woman like me behind? - SUNMI] Everyone in the idol community knew that you had a messy breakup with Sylvain (who cheated on you). And your amazing break up song was the comeback you needed. But now you have to dance the song with Sylvain on stage (think Taemin&Sunmi's dance) at an awards show! Things are SUPER tense in the practice rooms. Who knows what can happen?

BLESS U ETERNALLY FOR THIS GODLY PROMPT ANON I STAN U 4EVER AND LOOK FORWARD TO UR NEXT COMEBACK

HKFLAHFKA THIS ENDED UP SO HONKIN ANGSTILY HONRY 4GIVE ME

I HOPE U ENJOY!!!

It was going through the motions.

The twist of your hips, every facial expression to punctuate each melodious word that was meant to come out from your lips, your feet across the polished wooden floor based on muscle memory rather than the beat of the song.

So many months dedicated to perfecting and performing this exact choreography.

It was why you could run through the song’s dance with your eyes closed, as you were doing now.

However, given your upcoming appearance upon the bigger, grander stage of the esteemed Fódlan Awards show, a mere reiteration of your established for one of the biggest singles in your career thus far was not enough.

Not even an extended, remixed cut of your song was going to be enough to appease the audience.

As told by the higher executives at your record label.

You had to do something different.

Daring.

“We’re supposed to be in sync you know.”

Your eyes fluttered open.

And then, ever reluctantly, traveled up to a pair of twinkling brown irises, a cheeky grin, and a wild head of ginger red hair that never failed to seize attention.

Even given the circumstances, he still had it in him to sound so carefree.

Tall and gorgeous, broad shoulders that stretched out a short-sleeved white shirt that revealed toned arms and clung to a well-defined and chiseled torso, charming and captivating.

He was the idol that took the industry by storm with his talent and a subsequent controversy.

He was the man who once cradled your heart before allowing it to plummet to the ground.

He was Sylvain and he was to share the stage with you to perform the very song you penned in lieu of his unfaithfulness.

There was too much money behind his success. Your record label had to get him back in the good grace of the public, hence the ‘special’ arrangement for your performance, your feelings be damned.

And it was those forsaken feelings that made just simply looking at him too hard to bear.

Still, rather than humoring him, you only scoffed while continuing your routine: the both of you had to mirror one another’s movements, and you absolutely hated how his body continued to manage with remaining perfectly in sync with yours even if you attempted to slow or quicken each of your motions.

“If you’ve got time to talk while we’re supposed to be practicing, we can end this right here.”

His grin still remained in place, even as the shine in his eyes dwindled ever so slightly.

“I hear ya, I hear ya.”

The slowed music of the extended cut of your song’s chorus played, signaling for when it was time the two of you would point at one another before facing out to where the audience would be.

But rather than turn himself or allow you to do the same, he simply took a step forward, eliminating the space between you to grasp your wrist.

His lips were still quirked into a smile, but the words he then spoke were tinged with gruff melancholy. “You know how I am—I can’t ever appreciate a good thing even when it’s in front of me.”

Immediately, you tried to draw your hand back, but the hold that his hand--so much larger compared to yours--refused to offer any escape.

“Don’t you even start, you bastard--!” You lashed out, finding the sob that had been fighting to come loose from your lips beginning to viciously claw its way from the bottom of your throat. Not wanting to lose face in front of him, you were prepared to storm out from the practice room. Whether right over to your manager to demand once again to have a different dance partner, or outside to hail a taxi--anywhere was better than to share the same space as him.

He didn’t even flinch from what you said, the look in his eyes remorseful as it was determined. 

“Call me whatever you like. Make more songs to let the whole world how I fucked up. I’ll take it—” One more step closer towards you was taken while the tone in his voice was resolute in its desperation. “--lose my whole career over it. If it means you’ll take me back, I’ll grovel right on stage when we perform.”

To cry from anger or to cry that there was a tug at your heart strings from his determination to patch things up.

Vehemently, you shook your head, again while attempting to break free from his grip.

“Embarrass me like that and I’ll never forgive you--!”

Your wrist was freed.

But your body was immediately seized into an embrace while his lips planted right onto yours.

The scent of his favorite cologne, the softness of his mouth, the gentle heat of his body.

How you’ve missed them so as you found yourself returning his kiss, the familiarity you tried so hard to escape from lulling you immediately back in.

Your mouths soon parted but Sylvain kept you near while he brought his hand to cradle your cheek, his voice soft in a murmur, “So is there a chance that there’s room for forgiveness?”

The word ‘forgiveness’ suddenly had your mind reeling back to the horrid morning of tabloid magazines with pictures of him spotted on a late night rendezvous with a model he did a recent photoshoot with, social media ablaze as the idol community bore witness to the drama unfolding, your phone bombarded with texts and calls from management, family and friends, and most of all, him.

A sentence tumbled out from your lips, one you’ve been meaning to tell him to his face for a long while.

“I hate you.”

Once more, he didn’t flinch. He just kept you near and within his reach as he spoke,

“Do you hate this then?”

Sylvain was kissing you again, longingly, urgently. You were squirming in his arms all the while melting in his embrace, all the while his hands began to roam around your body, seeking out the sensitive points on your figure that he devoted himself to memorizing during your relationship.

He was just too good.

And this only made things worse.

“Let me make it up to you, let me make it up to you...”

Those were the words he urged in a husky murmur as you found yourself carefully laid down on the floor with him hovering right on top of you. Clothes began to scatter across the floor of the practice room as he proceeded to devote nothing but reverence to your body by the earnest suckles of his mouth on your nipples to the fluid circling of his thumb over your clit. The playback of your track had since finished, with the sound of your moans mingling with his amidst the noise of skin meeting skin in brisk slaps.

Your bodies were pressed together, joined. He was sinking the thick girth of his cock in and out of you, at first slow and indulgent but only driven to pick up his tempo with the sound of your mewls while your legs hugged around his waist while your nails scratched along his ivory shoulders.

“That’s right. Scratch me up, call me a lowlife--get it out of your system. Just take me back is all that I’m begging here,” he hissed, shuddering as he planted his mouth right onto yours for another kiss, relieved by the lack of resistance from your end.

Together.

Together as you were entangled within one another.

Together as you both soon reached climax while desperately clinging onto each other’s bodies.

Together as the two of you laid on the floor, Sylvain holding you close and tight, his grip so firm as though any give would have you slip away from him once again. Tears slipped from your eyes, immediately wiped by his lips kissing them away as he murmured a litany of apologies.

For so long, you’ve done all you could to move on from the broken love that you both shared.

And here you were, going through the motions once again.

[sickficgalore]

Day 12 - Free day (Overwork/Lance)

my last fic for @vldwhumpmas2017 and since it’s free day, i decided to be creative with it and made it a college(kinda) K-pop dance cover club/team au!

the dance they were covering was Crazy Sexy Cool by Astro, and this is their official dance practice video for reference!

“Lance, why are you so slow at picking up the dance routine today? We’re filming the cover at the end of this week, we don’t really have much time.” Allura, the leader of their dance cover and the one who was teaching the dance, was now extremely frustrated. The team had to repeat the chorus countless times because Lance kept fumbling with his moves.

“I’m so sorry… I’m tired, and it’s finals week.” Lance sighed, the first to sit back down on the floor when Coran turned the music off.

“Well, then I’m sorry too, but our fans are waiting for the Christmas cover, which won’t happen if you don’t stop being lazy.” Allura said firmly, “Crazy Sexy Cool isn’t so difficult that you shouldn’t be able to handle it. Also, it’s finals week for everyone here, why are you the only one who’s complaining?” Allura continued, the mood in the dance studio now tense.

“Allura. I think it’s time we call it a day.” Shiro, the assistant leader for the cover, said in a low voice as he walked up to Allura and subtly pointed at the clock that was mounted on one of the walls of the studio. It was almost thirty minutes past eleven, their original practice ending time.

“Right. We’ll meet again tomorrow, same timing, and I do hope we can get past the chorus.” Allura announced, glaring at Lance intentionally before the team dispersed.

Lance pursed his lips, trying his very best not to break down from the stress he was feeling as he picked up his bag from the corner of the dance studio. He had so many tests to study for and so many assignments to complete this week, and he was starting to regret participating in this cover. He was sure other members of the club would have willingly taken his place.

When Lance arrived back at his apartment past midnight, he put his bag down hastily before leaving yet again to his nearby gym to practice. He went over the dance they had learnt earlier countless times until his moves were smooth and on-par with the rest of the team before learning the gist of the entire choreography, wanting to learn ahead of the team so as to not be a burden at practice. It was almost four in the morning when he returned home.

Allura was nothing but pleased at Lance’s fast improvement later that day at practice, and was glad that her words had spurred him to work harder, obviously unaware of the extent Lance was going.

Lance’s routine continued for the rest of the week. School in the day, dance practice with the team until close to midnight, then heading to the gym to practice even more and then returning home to catch up with revision and his incomplete assignments into the wee hours of the morning.

—

It was Sunday, filming day for the cover, and Lance woke up feeling the worst he had felt that week. He was aware of his body feeling progressively more sluggish as the days passed, but he gradually grew numb to that same tired feeling he felt everyday. This one was different. His entire apartment was spinning and his body felt like it was being weighed down by a big bag of bricks.

“Whatever,” he told himself, “just complete this dance cover, and you can come back and take a good nap for the rest of the day. This hell week is finally coming to an end.”

While making breakfast, he zoned out while pouring milk into his bowl of cereal that when he snapped back into reality, he found his bowl of milk overflowing. In the end, he barely ate half of it in fear that he would barf. Later, while driving to the filming location, he almost drove past a red light and into a tree. It was fair to say that he really needed sleep.

Lance was thankful that the filming location was at an empty rooftop carpark and he was able to park his car a few steps away from where the team was, because he didn’t think he could walk long distances with the way his head was spinning.

“Lance, your eyebags are seriously popping.” Keith teased, “talk about some authentic Gucci eyebags you have over there.”

“I want to die.” Lance groaned, sitting down on one of the parking blocks in the carpark that they were filming at.

“Are you alright?” Hunk asked, concern evident on his face.

“Nope. This week was hell.” Lance responded, burying his face in between his knees.

“ALRIGHT, TEAM. LET’S START FILMING!” Coran, who was their outfit coordinator and cameraman, announced, “also, here are your Christmas hats and reindeer headbands. Glad to see you all remembered to put on red outfits for today’s cover! Lance, nice Christmas-themed socks.” he said enthusiastically.

Lance looked down at his feet, only now realising that his left sock was red while his right sock was green, and was not intentional.

“Did you really come here in mismatched socks..” Pidge chuckled, standing in position next to Lance.

“Shut up.” Lance groaned.

The song started playing, and Lance’s body followed the music like how a puppet would. He felt like his limbs were just flailing about, but he could do nothing about it.

“LANCE! Your facial expressions are terrible, and your movements are on time but lack any energy! Let’s do this again.” Allura shouted after monitoring the footage, pressing the play button on the music player once again.

Allura was beyond angry when she monitored the second footage, where Lance was dancing visibly worse than before. His movements this time were not even in sync with the song or everyone else.

“Allura, before you say anything, I think Lance needs to sit down.” Keith eyed Lance uneasily. Lance was swaying on his feet, his eyes downcast and focusing on nothing in particular. Not to mention the way his face was as pale as a ghost and there was an unsettling sheen of sweat all over his face and down to his neck.

“Lance? Lance?” Shiro repeatedly called his name, and only after the fifth ‘Lance’ did he show any sort of response.

“Yes? Are we doing it again?” Lance asked, voice almost a whisper that only Shiro could hear, “please don’t make me do it again, I feel like i’m about to keel over..” Lance sounded like he was about to start sobbing.

“Lance, you should sit down.” Shiro said. Hunk was already ahead of him and brought a stool from god-knows-where to Lance’s side. Lance was so out of it that Shiro had to ease him into the chair.

“What’s wrong with him?” Pidge asked the question that everyone on the team was dying to know the answer to.

Shiro put a hand to Lance’s forehead and neck, before checking with his own, “His body temperature is normal.” Shiro furrowed his eyebrows, “Lance. Lance. Can you hear me?” He tried to grab Lance’s attention.

“W-what?” Lance responded a few seconds late, turning to Shiro.

“How are you feeling now? Describe it to me.” Shiro said.

“I’m…..so extremely dizzy. And I’ve never felt this..tired..all my life. I can’t focus on anything and..and…” Lance broke out into tears, “School was so stressful this week, and dancing was so stressful. Did you k-know that I started hating dancing..at one point this week? I stayed up till the wee hours of, of the morning t-to perfect this dance and today I still c-can’t do it right.”

“Stop crying..” Shiro pulled Lance into his embrace and patted his back, like how he would to a sobbing child, “You’ve been working yourself way too hard. Seems like you’re experiencing the effects of a burnout.”

“B-but.. the Christmas cover. We have to do it…” Lance cried.

“No, we don’t.” Shiro turned to Allura, who sighed but gave a nod of approval, “We can reschedule the filming, maybe next week, we might still be on time.”

��Yeah, and I’m sure our fans would want your health to come first.” Coran commented.

“Allura will k-kill me..” Lance was calming down by now, but was still shaking and unable to talk clearly.

“No, I won’t. Things like this happen. I’m sorry for pushing you so hard.” Allura apologised, genuinely guilty for being so harsh to Lance the other day which she figured caused all this in the first place.

“Alright? You heard her. Now let’s get you home.” Shiro said, squeezing Lance’s shoulder.

“I’ll drive him. I just live a few blocks away.” Keith volunteered, already working on supporting Lance out of the chair.

“You didn’t come in a car.” Pidge stated.

“But Lance did, and for some reason he made it all the way here in one piece. I’ll drive his car.” Keith said.

“Please don’t crash it. You know how much Lance loves his car.” Shiro said as he went up to the blue car to attempt to find Lance’s car key to start the car, but was surprised to hear the soft purr of the engine coming from it, “What in the world? He even forgot to turn off his engine.”

“Evidence that he was definitely very out of it.” Keith said, loading the weakened Lance into the backseat before getting into the front seat.

“Take care of Lance!” Coran shouted.

“I will!” Keith responded before closing the door behind him. He turned around to see Lance lying down in the back seat, eyes closed as he slept.

It was a silent fifteen minute drive before Keith heard rustling in the back, and observed from the rear-view mirror to see Lance’s eyes fluttering open.

“Wait, aren’t we supposed to be filming?” Lance said, confused.

“We did film, well, tried. You almost collapsed. You were so out of it you probably don’t remember. You’re overworked, so I’m sending you home.” Keith explained.

“Oh.” was all Lance could reply before he went back to sleep.