Beneath Our Disguises

Burning hearts (Phoenix x Reader)

Hey Guys! So I know it has been a while and I'm really sorry about that, promise I am starting back up and hoping to write more regularly, so sorry and thank you so much for liking it and commenting!

"Wh-what happened?" you croak, turning your head to gaze up at your beautiful saviour, the man above you that seemed to have a smoky smile.

"Hey, it's ok, you're ok now," Was all he said, such a strong voice, such a reassuring voice you thought, eyes wandering to the warm glow not too far away and then to a crowd of people. What had happened? You wonder vaguely as you sit on the edge of a metal truck, gripping tightly to the coolness beneath your fingertips, the only thing holding you to the earth it seemed as your eyes refused to see what was before you, what was so plainly laid out. Your apartment, burnt to the ground beyond the crowd of overly eager spectators. Your eyes follow rushing people in neon yellow and beige soot-covered clothing, rushing to put out the disintegrating building. You could feel the heat from where you sat, the roaring swish of flames and soft hiss of smoke that escapes to obscure the moon. 

"Ma'am, what's your name?" Asks the smoke-stained voice as roughly calloused fingers press against the flesh of your wrist, gentle but firm to measure your disastrous pulse. You couldn't quite tell if it was your pulse or the fire that roared in your ears, so effectively burning out the thoughts that tried to make sense at that moment, your eyes trailing the fiery ruins to find any other attendants that were escaping.

 "Miss, your name?" breaks the voice into the roaring that had taken over your ears.

You try to respond, to tell the nice man that your name is y/n, but the words couldn't come out as your eyes trail to someone that leaps desperately from their open window and the screams of onlookers barely register. Before you could see them hit the ground, your face was turned by surprisingly hot fingers on your cheek. "Y/n. I-it's y/n." You say, trying to push that image from your mind, shudders and goosebumps erupting under your skin, having nothing to do with how cold the air was at that moment.

"Alright y/n, my name is Asher, you're going to be ok, just keep your eyes on me." The very handsome man tells you, his voice comforting as you nod, forcing yourself to keep your eyes on his smoky ones as his fingers linger gently on the side of your face, forcing you to watch him instead of the building to your left as it burns to the ground, a gentle palm caressing your only injury, a 3rd degree burn across your right arm. 

One month Later ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you sure this is ok?" You voice, for just about the 100th time that day alone, to your best friend as you fold out the blankets across her couch. Ever since the tragedy of your apartment, where you were the only survivor, you had been skipping from place to place, struggling to find a place to stay with no belongings, almost no money, and no job. Your best friend had been allowing you to sleep on her couch without rent for the past week and you could not get over her generosity on the topic as she pins the last of her nearly black curls into place atop her head and grabbed the mug of plain black coffee from the counter.

"Absolutely positive, you know this already, and if you don't stop apologizing and let me go to work, neither of us will have a place to stay within a week." She voiced teasingly, waving her goodbyes as she snuck out before you could apologize yet again for the inconvenience to her that you swore you cause, despite her insisting that there was no problem with the situation. 

You can't help but let out a soft sigh and plop down beside the blanket that you had recently folded, crisping a corner neatly with nothing else to do. You knew that you should find a job, an apartment, a life, but with the fire and images still bright in your mind, you couldn't help but be reluctant to find one. You had lost everything, everyone you knew, every belonging, everything. The most vivid image from that was still that firefighter, the one with smoky eyes that seemed to dance with fire behind him and the little spark that lit them from the inside out. His curls of lightly browned hair, as if toasted by the fires that he so courageously saved people from. And his hands, large, warm, calloused, and surprisingly gentle that had managed to keep her from seeing the horrors that the newspapers later spoke of.