Syboulette Fabulous Pride set - 4t3 conversion - very late gift for @toadifylackoffantasy
Sorry for the very long delay - I was very busy, but on the other hand you also got very busy, so I guess we're even!
14 items, all BGC, all recolorable except for the rug and the wall polaroids
Some items have fun extra rainbow presets though :)
Clothing rack is functional as a wardrobe and the hanging clothes snap to its slots. They are compatible with ATS' Dream Home Decorator closet pieces!
The desk is just a desk, didn't make it a vanity because of the EP requirements + we already have a mirror and a clothing rack
There's an UV issue in one of the inside soles of the platform shoes - I had to work on the OG mesh a lot (it was one-sided on everything), had to solidify each part separately, and that was the best I could get :P
Reasonable polyconuts, with the highest items around 1.7k
Comes with collection file
Original link: https://www.patreon.com/posts/download-set-tsr-84733561
HYUNJIN | IF YOU COULD SEE YOURSELF THROUGH MY EYES
PAIRING: Hyunjin x f!reader (established relationship)
GENRE: Comfort, fluff, hurt/comfort, insecurity, bad day, soft boyfriend.
SUMMARY: You’ve had a terrible day: work, comments, mistakes, and on top of that, the mirror feels like the cruelest enemy. When you come home, all you want is to disappear under the blankets. Hyunjin notices something is wrong the second he walks in. He gives you space, then slowly pulls you back with warmth, soft words, a cup of something hot… and a drawing of you exactly as he sees you — tired, human, and still loved.
The day starts bad, but you don’t realize how bad until it’s already too late.
You wake up late because you didn’t hear the alarm. You glance at yourself in the mirror for half a second while you wash your face, and already, without really noticing, your brain starts silently taking notes on an invisible list: dark circles, weird hair, dull skin. You don’t give it too much importance right then because you’re in a rush, but the feeling sticks like a shadow.
You have a half‑hearted breakfast, scrolling through your phone, and the first thing you see is a reminder about work / college / that project you’ve been dragging along for days. You’re already running behind. You’re already tired. You’re already in the mood where, at best, everything goes “meh”.
And that’s exactly how it goes.
A passive‑aggressive comment from someone (“late again?”, “that wasn’t how the report looked yesterday”, “is that all you brought today?”), a stupid mistake in something you usually do right, an email full of red corrections. None of it is a huge disaster by itself, but it all adds up. And on top of that, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched, compared, measured against a bar you never quite reach.
By the time the day ends, it’s like someone has erased your energy with a giant rubber. There’s nothing left. Just autopilot.
You go home with your head full of words that aren’t kind. “You could’ve done better.” “Same thing as always.” “It’s not that hard, but you make it hard.” Things you’d never say to someone you love, but your mind spits them at you without mercy.
Hyunjin isn’t there when you get in. He must still be at practice or in the studio. The apartment is quiet, too quiet. You drop your keys on the table, kick off your shoes without even looking where they land, and go straight to the bathroom.
The mirror is not kind today.
You look at yourself under the harsh bathroom light and suddenly it’s like all the voices from the day found the perfect excuse to gather there: on your face, on your body, in every detail. Your clothes look weird on you — or at least you see them that way. The texture of your skin seems awful. The tiredness in your eyes feels unbearable.
— Disgusting — you mutter, almost without noticing —. Look at you…
It’s not the first time you say it, but today it sounds louder. And even though you’re alone, you feel a little ashamed for having said it out loud. You do what you always do in those moments: look away, switch off the light, go to your room and change clothes. Something baggy, something that hides you. Something that makes you feel less visible.
You throw yourself on the bed without even bothering to pull the covers back. Your phone buzzes once, twice, three times. Notifications. You don’t check them. You close your eyes, trying to rest, but all that does is give your thoughts more space to make noise.
You replay the day, the things you did wrong, the people who seemed to be doing everything better than you. And, as if that wasn’t enough, your mind walks right back to the mirror. To how you looked. To how you imagine everyone else sees you.
By the time you hear the front door, your eyes are already glassy and there’s an uncomfortable knot tightening in your throat.
Hyunjin comes in with the familiar sound of keys, the soft click of the door closing gently. He sets his things down by the entrance. Shoes off. Silence for a few seconds. Then his voice:
— Baby, I’m home.
You don’t answer. Or rather, you want to answer, but your voice gets caught behind the knot. There’s another brief silence. You know him well enough to picture the little frown forming between his brows, alert.
You hear his footsteps coming down the hallway. The bedroom door opens slowly.
— Are you asleep…? — he asks, poking his head in first.
The light from the hall frames his silhouette, but you’re lying on your side, your back to the door, curled up. You could pretend to be asleep, but you take too long deciding and it’s already obvious you’re awake.
— Hey… — his voice drops a little more, gentle —. Can I come in?
You barely nod, without turning around. He steps inside, closes the door quietly and comes to the bed. You feel the mattress dip a little when he sits on the edge.
— You had a long day, didn’t you? — he says, more statement than question.
You don’t answer. Shame starts mixing with the exhaustion. You know if you speak, the tremor in your voice will give you away, and you don’t want to fall apart in front of him. Not today. Not over “stupid things”.
Hyunjin doesn’t push. At least, not in that way. He stays silent for a few seconds, watching you. You can feel it even with your back turned: that careful, analyzing gaze of his, taking everything in without judging.
Then you feel something soft brushing your back. His fingers, sliding lightly over the fabric of your shirt.
— I’m gonna sit here with you, okay? — he says —. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I’ll just… be here.
The sentence is so simple it untangles you a little. You feel him shuffle on the bed, then stretch out behind you, leaving a small gap. He doesn’t hug you right away. He gives you room. He just keeps his hand close to your arm, there, but not pressing.
You spend a few minutes like that. Your uneven breathing slowly starts to sync with his, which is slow and steady. It becomes painfully obvious you’re holding back tears. Your breath catches every now and then, you swallow too hard.
Finally, Hyunjin breaks the silence with the same softness he uses when he paints:
— If I ask how your day was, are you going to lie to me?
The question catches you off guard. A sound escapes you that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob.
— It was shit — you whisper at last.
He exhales slowly, like he’s more grateful for the honesty than he ever would be for an automatic “fine”.
— Do you want to tell me about it, or should we just curse the universe in general? — he offers.
You go quiet for a moment. Your brain starts trying to organize the mess: the rush, the comments, the mistakes, the mirror. You don’t even know where to start.
— I don’t know… — you say —. Everything. I feel like everything went wrong. And that I did too.
Hyunjin moves a bit closer, just enough that if he leans in, his forehead can brush the back of your neck.
— Can I hug you? — he whispers.
You give the smallest nod. As soon as you do, his arm slides around your waist with extreme care, like you’re made of glass. He pulls you gently against him, closing the gap between you. His chest presses to your back, his legs line up with yours.
— Better — he murmurs, almost to himself.
It’s right then, with his arm anchoring you and his warm breath against your neck, that the first tear slips out. You don’t make a sound, but he notices. You can feel it in the way his hold tightens just a little.
— Hey… — he says, very quietly —. It’s okay if you cry.
Instead of shutting you down, that’s what finally breaks you. The knot in your throat loosens and the tears start coming properly, silent at first, then in little sobs that escape whether you want them to or not.
Hyunjin doesn’t cut in with rushed “don’t cry”s. He just stays with you. His hand starts stroking your arm, up and down, slowly. His chest keeps rising and falling, unhurried against your back, holding you in place.
— It was a horrible day — you manage between uneven breaths —. I feel like everything I do is wrong.
— What happened? — he asks in that soft, no‑rush tone —. Tell me one thing at a time.
And that’s what you do. In pieces. You tell him you were late, that you messed something up you usually do right, that someone made a comment that hurt more than it should’ve. You don’t go into deep detail, but you give enough for him to build the picture. As you talk, he nods, makes little sounds of understanding, but he doesn’t interrupt or argue.
When you’re done with the “day” part, you fall quiet again. There’s something else, and he knows it.
— And then… — you start, hesitating.
— Then? — he prompts, gentle, not rushing you.
— Then I got here, looked in the mirror and… — you swallow —. I don’t know, Hyunjin. I looked horrible. I felt… ugly. And pathetic for crying over that.
You spit out the last line with obvious disgust at yourself. He hears it immediately. His hand pauses on your arm for a moment, like that word has snagged him.
— It’s not pathetic — he says, calm but firm —. It’s not, baby.
It’s hard to believe him, and that shows.
— I’m so tired of myself — slips out of your mouth louder than you meant —. Of my face, of my body, of everything. Today I only see… flaws.
The word hangs between you. Flaws. Hyunjin hates it on your lips. Hates it more than he’ll ever admit.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pushes himself up a little, just enough to gently turn you toward him. One hand on your shoulder, the other on your hip, slow movements, giving you time to resist if you want. You don’t.
You end up on your back, or almost, with him lying on his side next to you, propped up on one elbow, looking down at you. His eyes are full of warm concern, almost hurting.
With the back of his fingers, he wipes away a stray tear from your cheek.
— Look at me — he asks softly.
It’s hard, but you do. His gaze is so direct it makes you squirm a little, like he can see every horrible sentence you’ve mentally thrown at yourself all day.
— You said you’re tired of yourself — he repeats —. Of your face. Your body. “Everything”.
You nod, embarrassed. He shakes his head slowly.
— Can I tell you what I see? — he asks.
You’re not sure you want to hear it, but at the same time, a part of you needs it. You nod again.
Hyunjin takes a deep breath, ordering the words before he lets them out. He’s not tossing random compliments at you; you can see him thinking.
— I see the person who came home a while ago so exhausted she didn’t even say hi — he begins —. And who still took her shoes off, still put her keys in their place… because even when she’s drained, she keeps a few small things in order. That already says a lot.
His hand slides from your shoulder down your arm, following his thoughts.
— When you look in the mirror, I know you only focus on what you don’t like. But when I look at you, the first thing I see is how your eyes look when you’re about to cry and still holding it in… and how they look now that you’re finally letting yourself fall apart a little. And that’s not ugly. It’s real. It’s human.
“Human” in his mouth sounds like something beautiful.
— Your body… — he continues very carefully, like he’s walking on glass —. You use it every day to get up when you don’t want to, to do things for people who don’t even notice. It holds you when you dance with me in the living room like idiots, when you run into my arms at the airport, when you laugh so hard your stomach hurts. It’s not your enemy, even if today it feels like it.
He drops his gaze for a second, clearly scanning through specific details in his head.
— I like how your dark circles show when you’re really tired, because it means you’ve lived, you’ve felt, you’ve worked hard. I like your hands, even when you say they’re “clumsy”, because they’re the hands that grab mine when we cross the street, that hold my face when I’m the one feeling down. I like your hair when it’s “a mess”, because that’s when you look the most like yourself.
His words are so specific they knock the air out of you. You feel your throat tightening again, but it’s no longer only from sadness — there’s something like relief and disbelief mixed in.
— And yeah — he adds with a soft sigh —. Today was a bad day. And that makes everything look worse in your head. But you’re not your bad day. You’re not just the version of yourself you see under the harsh bathroom light at nine p.m. after holding too much in.
His hand moves up to your face now, thumb brushing your cheek, not to wipe tears this time but just to be there.
— If you could see yourself for five minutes through my eyes… — he murmurs —. Just five. You’d never talk about yourself like that again.
You close your eyes for a moment, because holding his gaze while he says all that feels too intense. He doesn’t force you to keep them open. He just leans in until his forehead rests against yours. His nose barely brushes yours.
— I’m not gonna fight with you — he says very quietly —. But I am going to fight that voice that talks so badly to you. And I’m going to keep insisting as many times as it takes.
He leaves a tiny kiss on the tip of your nose, almost childish, which pulls out a laugh tangled with a sniffle.
— You’re being so dramatic — you manage to mumble.
— I learned from someone — he shoots back with a small smile, still close.
He stays like that for a few seconds more, so close that it’s easy to focus only on his breathing. Then he pulls back a little and sits up, back on the edge of the bed.
— Okay — he says —. Plan.
He looks at you like he’s about to propose something very serious.
— First, I’m going to bring you something warm. Your body’s been in survival mode for hours — he explains —. Then, if you feel like it, we’ll turn off the main light, leave just the lamp on, put some soft music. And if you want… I can sketch you really quick. Not a perfect drawing, not a big piece. Just you, exactly as you are right now. So you can see yourself differently from the outside.
The idea catches you off guard.
— Draw me… like this? — you ask, glancing down at yourself: swollen eyes, big shirt, messy hair.
— Exactly like this — he says without hesitation —. Because I like you like this, too. And I think you need proof.
You don’t know what to say, but the offer spins around inside you.
Hyunjin stands up in a smooth motion, and before leaving, leans down toward you again.
— I’ll be right back — he whispers, kissing your forehead.
He leaves the room, and you’re left with your heart pounding and your mind a little clearer than it was an hour ago. You listen to the sounds from the kitchen: running water, cups, the kettle heating up. There’s something deeply comforting about those ordinary sounds made by someone who loves you.
When he comes back, he’s holding a steaming mug in one hand and, in the other, his sketchbook and a pencil case. He sets the sketchbook and pencils on the nightstand and hands you the mug carefully.
— It’s hot, careful — he warns.
You sit up a bit, resting your back against the headboard. He climbs onto the bed again, this time facing you, legs crossed. He turns off the ceiling light and switches on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a warm, gentle glow.
— You look better like this — he says, looking at you with a mix of fondness and focus.
You bring the mug to your lips. The heat in your hands and down your throat slowly pulls you back into your own body, like up until now you’d been floating outside of it.
Hyunjin opens the sketchbook, flips to a blank page, and picks up a pencil. He looks at you, then at the paper, then at you again. There’s no uncomfortable intensity, just the calm of someone doing something they love.
— Mind if I stare at you for a bit? — he asks softly —. You don’t have to pose or anything. Just… be here.
— I can’t promise I’ll look very… inspiring — you reply, a hint of dry humor slipping through.
— You inspire me even when you yawn — he says, without really thinking about it.
You blush a little, but decide to do what he said: just exist. You hold the mug between your hands, look down at your knees, breathe. Every now and then you glance up at him: his brow slightly furrowed in concentration, the way he bites his lip a little when he draws, the quick, sure movements of the pencil.
The air fills with a strange calm, like the horrible day happened in some other universe. Here, it’s just you, him, the paper, the warmth of the tea, and the soft sound of graphite on the page.
After a few minutes, Hyunjin breaks the silence without lifting his eyes from the sketchbook.
— What happened today — he says —. It doesn’t define your worth. Not as a person, not as a partner, not as anything.
You make a small sound, something between a nod and a doubt.
— I know that… in theory — you admit.
— Sure — he says —. We all know the theory. Feeling it is the hard part. That’s why I’m going to keep repeating it until at some point it feels a tiny bit more true.
He glances up at you for a second.
— And if I have to, I’ll draw it too — he adds.
You laugh more freely this time. The knot in your chest has loosened several notches.
After a while, he lifts his pencil, blows lightly over the paper to get rid of any dust, and turns the sketchbook around to face you.
— Look.
You almost feel shy about it. Your eyes drop to the page slowly. What you see isn’t a hyper‑realistic portrait, but it’s not a caricature either; it’s a version of you captured in soft lines: the oversized t‑shirt, your knees bent under the blanket, your slightly messy hair, your tired eyes, yes, but with a calm light in them you hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine.
There are tiny details that throw you off: the way he’s drawn the corners of your mouth, like you’re just about to smile; the care he’s put into the shape of your hands around the mug; the shading in your eyes, like he poured every bit of his affection into the graphite.
— This is how I see you — he says, not trying to dress it up.
You bite your lip, overwhelmed. The tears come back, but they don’t sting in the same way.
— I don’t look that bad there… — you whisper.
— That’s because you’re not bad — he shrugs —. You’re just tired and sad after a rough day. And that version of you, in my opinion, also deserves kindness, not insults.
He leans closer.
— If you want, I can tear the page out and you can keep it. For the next shitty days — he offers —. As proof that even when your brain is saying horrible things, there’s at least one person in the world who sees you like that.
You nod slowly. He carefully rips the page out, folds it in half, and hands it to you as if it were something precious.
— Thank you… — you murmur, holding it gently.
— Don’t thank me for telling the truth — he replies, half serious, half tender.
He sets the sketchbook and pencils aside and slides back toward you on the bed. This time he lies down next to you, your shoulders touching, and without much more talking, he opens one arm. You move into him without thinking, resting your head on his chest, the folded drawing pressed close to your own heart.
His fingers start tracing absent patterns on your arm. The soft music he put on in the background is almost drowned out by the sound of his heartbeat in your ear.
— Tomorrow doesn’t have to be perfect — he says after a while —. It just has to feel a bit less heavy than today. And if it doesn’t, I’ll be here anyway.
— Always this dramatic? — you mumble, your voice already heavy with sleep.
— Always this honest — he corrects you, squeezing you a little closer.
You close your eyes. It’s still the same horrible day… but you no longer feel alone inside it. You no longer feel just “ugly” or “not enough”. You feel… seen. In the parts you like and in the ones that still hurt.
Right before you fall asleep, your breathing syncing with his, a soft thought comes to you, almost a whisper: maybe, little by little, you’ll learn to look at yourself with less cruelty. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But in the meantime, you have the drawing tucked away in your things and Hyunjin breathing beside you, ready to remind you as many times as it takes.
And for the first time all day, that feels like enough.
Content warning: fluff, scars mentioned, Sevika not wearing her prosthetic, there’s not really much just lots of fluff and comfort.
Authors note: I don’t usually write for Sevika but this was really fun to do. Also my requests are open for fics, banners and mood boards so feel free to ask for anything, rules are here
Word count: 590
Introduction Requested by
It was late as you stared at the door just waiting for your girlfriend to walk in. she had told you this morning she was gonna be home late today and to not wait for her, but here you are, waiting for her to get home.
As time goes by you get more and more tired, almost falling asleep on the sofa before you heard the door click and Sevika came in. She slipped off her boots and let them fall haphazardly onto the floor, she carefully dragged off her cape and hung it up by the door before walking inside, she paused when she saw you laying over the back of the sofa just tiredly watching her.
“I told you not to wait for me.”
You could hear the tiredness in her voice as she walked over to the sofa. You shrugged and got up to give her a hug, snuggling your head into her chest. Sevika just sighed softly and held you tight against her, slowly swaying from side to side.
“I made you some curry earlier, it’s still in the pot so it’ll be warm.”
Sevika smiled a little as she kissed the crown of your head.
“Thank you doll, I’ll have some later but right now let’s get you into bed.”
You hummed softly as she walked to bed with you, she gave you another kiss before heading to the bathroom to have a quick shower. You grabbed her a change of clothes along with a warm towel and put them in the bathroom for her.
After about 20 minutes Sevika walked out of the bathroom mostly dry except her hair which was still dripping, by now she had taken off her prosthetic arm and was holding a towel in her right.
“You want some help?”
Sevika nodded as she sat on the bed. You immediately started to dry her hair, trying to be gentle as she began to relax. Once her hair was dry she immediately laid down in bed and you moved to lay on top of her basically being a human weighted blanket, your head rested on her chest while her right arm moved to lay over your waist. You began to run your fingers along her scars and Sevika looked down just watching your fingers glide along her skin like she was something precious because to you she was.
“How was your day?”
You spoke quietly, clearly still tired but you didn’t get much time with your girlfriend because of how often she was busy with work, so you wanted to spend as much time with her as possible.
“Same old, Jinx being a swine, I swear that girl never runs out of energy and doesn’t know when to quit. Silco made me clean up after her again. I get wanting to keep her around I suppose but I wish he’d stop sending her on jobs with me.
You hummed as she spoke, feeling the vibrations through her chest causing you to get more sleepy, your hand growing slower and less coordinated and of course, Sevika noticed.
“Doll, if you need sleep then just go to sleep.”
You whined slightly.
“Wanna spend time with you that’s all.”
“You’ll get to spend time with me in the morning, now sleep, or do I need to knock you out myself.”
You sighed and curled up against her more, your hands still moving along her body absentmindedly until you eventually fell asleep in Sevika’s arm.
“Good night doll, I’ll be here in the morning, promise.”
