includes ~ angst to fluff (comfort) // insecure reader // soft! smoke
word count ~ 1.9k
a/n ~ omggg my first smoke fic :> i kinda bounce between calling him smoke and elijah, just a heads up.
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Smoke noticed everything.
That was what made him dangerous to some people and comforting to you.
He noticed when a room got too quiet. When someone’s smile didn’t reach their eyes. When a man’s hand drifted too close to his waistband. When a lie sat wrong in somebody’s mouth. He noticed exits, shadows, tension, weather, footsteps.
And he noticed you.
Always.
You used to think that should make you nervous, being loved by someone who saw so much. But with Elijah, it was different. He didn’t watch you like he was waiting for you to slip. He watched you like you were something worth keeping safe.
Still, lately, you wished he saw a little less.
You were standing in front of the mirror in your bedroom, smoothing your hands down the front of your dress for the third time. It was a pretty dress. You knew that. Deep brown, soft against your skin, hugging you in places you weren’t sure you wanted hugged tonight. Your hair was done, your lips glossed, earrings brushing your neck.
You looked nice.
At least, you were trying to convince yourself you did.
Outside the room, you could hear low voices and the faint sound of music from downstairs. People were already gathering. Eli and his brother had business to handle, which meant there would be eyes, laughter, drinks poured too heavy, music too loud, and women who looked like they had never once second-guessed how they entered a room.
You hated that thought as soon as it came.
It wasn’t fair. Not to them. Not to you.
But insecurity had never cared much about fairness.
You turned slightly in the mirror and frowned.
The dress clung at your hips. Your stomach didn’t look as flat as you wanted. Your arms looked softer than they had last month. You tugged at the neckline, then the waist, then sighed because nothing was actually wrong with the dress.
The problem was you.
Or at least, that was what your mind was trying to tell you.
“You fighting with that dress?”
Smoke’s voice came from the doorway, low and warm.
You startled, turning quickly. “How long you been standing there?”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, hat tilted low, eyes fixed on you with that quiet intensity that always made your stomach flutter.
“Long enough.”
You looked away first. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one I got.”
You rolled your eyes, turning back toward the mirror. “I’m almost ready.”
He didn’t move for a second. Then you heard his boots against the floor as he came into the room. He moved slowly, not because he was unsure, but because he knew when to take his time with you.
He stopped behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him at your back, but not touching yet.
His eyes met yours in the mirror.
“You look ready to me.”
You gave a small laugh with no humor in it. “You just saying that.”
His expression didn’t change, but something sharpened behind his eyes.
“I don’t have to say nothing.”
You swallowed.
Smoke tilted his head slightly. “Try again.”
You hated when he did that. When he caught the lie before you could even dress it properly.
You shrugged, pretending to fuss with your bracelet. “I just don’t know if I like this on me.”
His gaze moved over you in the mirror, slow but not careless. It wasn’t the kind of look that made you feel inspected. It made you feel seen. That was almost worse, because you weren’t sure you wanted him seeing the parts of you that felt ugly right now.
“What don’t you like?” he asked.
“Elijah.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because you’re standing here looking at yourself like somebody said sumn' to you, and I want to know if I need to have a conversation.”
You almost smiled despite yourself. “Nobody said anything.”
His jaw worked once. “Then who got you looking like that?”
You didn’t answer.
Smoke’s eyes softened in the mirror.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
That one sound almost broke you.
Because he understood.
He always did.
You looked down, blinking fast. “It’s stupid.”
“No, it ain’t.”
“You don’t even know what I’m thinking.”
“I know enough.”
You turned away from the mirror, crossing your arms over your middle before you realized you were doing it. Smoke noticed that too. His eyes dropped briefly to your arms, then lifted back to your face.
You forced a laugh. “I’m being dramatic. I’ll change and be down in a minute.”
You tried to move past him, but he caught your wrist gently.
Not tight.
Never tight.
Just enough to stop you.
“Look at me.”
You didn’t want to.
“Baby,” he said, softer.
That did it.
You looked up.
His face was serious now. No teasing. No edge. Just Elijah, standing in front of you with concern tucked behind all that calm.
“What’s going on in that head?” he asked.
You took a shaky breath and hated yourself for it. “I just… I don’t feel pretty tonight.”
The words sounded smaller out loud.
Smoke stared at you.
Not shocked. Not confused.
Hurt.
Not because of you. Because for some reason, the idea that you could look at yourself and not see what he saw seemed to actually pain him.
You laughed weakly. “See? Stupid.”
“Don’t call it that.”
“It is.”
“It ain’t.”
You looked away. “There are going to be so many women downstairs, Elijah.”
“And?”
“And they look…” You struggled for the words, embarrassed by every one. “They look perfect. Like they don’t have to try. Like they just walk in and everyone notices.”
He was quiet for a second.
Then he said, “You think I don’t notice you?”
Your eyes snapped back to his. “That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what it sounded like.”
“No. I know you notice me.”
“Do you?”
You hated that your eyes started burning.
Smoke saw it and immediately stepped closer, his hand sliding from your wrist to your fingers.
“Because from where I’m standing,” he said, voice low, “you don’t know it enough.”
You tried to pull your hand back, overwhelmed, but he held on gently. Not trapping you. Anchoring you.
“I just don’t want to feel like I’m standing next to you looking… less than,” you admitted.
His face changed.
“Less than what?”
You gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t know.”
“That’s right,” he said, firmer now. “You don’t know. Because there ain’t no answer.”
You sniffled, trying to look away again, but Smoke moved with you, keeping himself in your line of sight.
“You hear me?” he asked.
You nodded, but he didn’t seem satisfied.
“No. Hear me for real.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I don’t bring you around me because you make me look good. I don’t keep you close because of what other folks think when we walk in a room. I don’t love you because you fit some picture somebody else made up.”
Your throat tightened.
He stepped closer until the hem of your dress brushed his leg.
“I love you because you’re you.”
You closed your eyes.
Elijah’s voice softened.
“And yeah, I think you’re beautiful. So beautiful it makes me forget what I was supposed to be doing half the time.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
He lifted his free hand and wiped it away with his thumb.
“But that ain’t all you are,” he continued. “You hear me? You’re not just pretty to me. You’re warm. You’re funny when you ain’t trying to be. You’re stubborn as hell. You care too much and then act like you don’t. You hum when you cook. You roll your eyes when you’re about to smile. You fix my collar like you mad at it. You pray over people who don’t even know you’re praying for them.”
You opened your eyes, tears blurring him.
His own eyes looked softer than you had ever seen them.
“That’s what I see when I look at you,” he said. “Not whatever little thing you standing in that mirror trying to punish yourself over.”
Your lips trembled. “You make it sound easy.”
“It ain’t easy,” he said honestly. “I know that. I know a man can tell you you’re beautiful all day, and some days your mind still won’t let it land.”
That sentence hit you harder than you expected.
He leaned down slightly, his forehead nearly touching yours.
“So I’m not asking you to believe it all at once,” he whispered. “Just don’t stand here lying on yourself while I’m in the room.”
A broken laugh escaped you through the tears.
Smoke’s mouth curved, just barely. “There she go.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Mhm.”
“You think you know everything.”
“Not everything.” His hand moved to your waist, careful and warm. “Just you.”
You looked down at where his hand rested against the dress you had been criticizing minutes ago.
Smoke followed your gaze.
“You want to change?” he asked.
You hesitated.
He nodded once, like your answer already mattered before you said it. “Then change. I’ll wait. You want to wear this? Wear it. I’ll still be looking at you the same.”
Your eyes lifted to his.
He meant it.
There was no pressure in his voice. No impatience. No male pride wounded because you couldn’t immediately accept his compliment. Just choice. Space. Steadiness.
“You like this dress?” you asked quietly.
Smoke’s gaze moved over you once more, slower this time, and his jaw tightened like he was trying to stay respectful about it.
“I love this dress.”
Your cheeks warmed.
His eyes came back to yours. “But I love the woman in it more.”
You tried to fight a smile.
He noticed, of course.
“Mhm,” he murmured. “That’s better.”
“Don’t get smug.”
“Too late.”
You laughed softly, wiping your cheeks.
Smoke reached for the edge of your face with both hands now, holding you like something precious. His thumbs brushed away the last of your tears.
“You know what’s gon’ happen when we go downstairs?” he asked.
“What?”
“I’m gon’ walk in with you. Folks gon’ look, because of course they gon’ look. And you’re gon’ remember that looking don’t mean owning. They can look. They can wonder. They can whisper. But they don’t get to decide nothing about you.”
Your breathing slowed.
“And if you get uncomfortable,” he continued, “you squeeze my hand. We leave. I don’t care who’s there, what’s happening, what needs doing. You squeeze my hand, we gone.”
Your heart softened completely.
“You’d leave your own party?”
“For you?” He looked almost offended. “I’d leave the state.”
You laughed, and this time it was real.
Smoke smiled, small and satisfied, then leaned in and kissed your forehead.
Not your mouth.
Your forehead.
The kind of kiss that made you feel protected instead of desired, which somehow made you feel even more loved.
You leaned into him, resting your cheek against his chest. His arms wrapped around you immediately. For a while, the two of you just stood there in the bedroom, the music downstairs muffled beneath the floor, his heartbeat steady under your ear.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
His hand moved over your back. “For what?”
“For needing reassurance.”
Smoke pulled back enough to look at you.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Apologize for letting me love you.”
Your chest squeezed.
He said it so simply. Like it was obvious. Like love was not just the easy parts, the pretty parts, the kissing and laughter and being desired. Like love was this too: standing in front of a mirror on a hard night and letting someone hold up the truth when you couldn’t.
You touched his face. “You’re softer than people think.”
His brow lifted. “Don’t tell nobody.”
“I might.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Risky.”
You smiled. “Very.”
He kissed your palm, then stepped back just enough to take you in again. “You ready?”
You glanced at the mirror.
For the first time all night, you didn’t immediately search for what was wrong.
You saw the dress. Your skin. Your earrings. Your softness. Your nerves. Your beauty, even if you couldn’t fully hold it yet.
Then you saw Smoke behind you, watching like he had never doubted it.
You took a breath.
“Yeah,” you said. “I’m ready.”
Smoke offered his hand.
You took it.
Downstairs, the room was warm and loud. People turned when you entered, just like he said they would. Conversation shifted. Eyes moved. Music played. Someone called Smoke’s name from across the room.
But his hand stayed wrapped around yours.
Steady.
Certain.
He didn’t drop it when people looked. Didn’t step ahead like you were something following behind him. He walked beside you, thumb moving once across your skin like a reminder.
I’m here.
You squeezed his hand lightly.
Not because you wanted to leave.
Just because you could.
Smoke looked down at you immediately.
You smiled.
“I’m okay,” you whispered.
His face softened, only for you.
“I know,” he whispered back.
And maybe you didn’t feel perfect.
Maybe insecurity didn’t disappear just because the man you loved called you beautiful.
But standing beside Elijah, with his hand in yours and his eyes always finding you first, you believed one thing a little more than you had upstairs.
🥹🤎🔥 @lajisanusiart “WHERE THEIR JOURNEY CONTINUES”
For everyone that wanted to see me create another sinners artwork, this one’s for you. I thought I’d explore the Annie and Smoke ancestral story using some colour theory.
This is my last fan art piece for a little while as I begin some new projects. I hope you like it. Prints are available on my site - Link in bio. Thank you all as ever for your support.
