Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Hey! This is my first X-Men fic, so yea. It was more of a project to see if I could do it. All the words came from a Random Word Generator, and I might make some of them into one-shots. Please review!

Of Pyres and Rogues

By Miranda Panda-chan


There had been a small spark of something when they'd met each other's gaze, and—as everyone knew—a spark was all Pyro needed to start a wildfire.


When she could finally touch, the first thing she did was tackle him to the ground and kiss him as hard as she could.


She couldn't ever run away from him for long, because he would track her down, and once he found her: not even the apocalypse could tear him away.


Their first fight have been a mini World Word III, fire and explosions erupted from John, while cold silence came from Rogue, and it took a dangerously annoyed Wolverine to get him to apologize to each other.


He wondered how she could eat so little and still be so energetic, but it probably had something to with the candy stash under her bed.


When she looked into his eyes and lost herself in the dancing flames in his brown eyes, she had to remember to tell herself to breathe.


She'd not ever dare to dream of the day when he'd return her feelings


He'd taken so many things he weren't his already, so why couldn't he steal her heart as well?


She couldn't help but worry about him, especially when he had a record of coming home unable to stand, much less walk.


She hated winter, she hated ice, and the cold in general, but he was always there, fiery and warm, to keep her from freezing in her own emotional blizzard.


Here he was, standing in front of the giant building that had used to be the Mansion, but without Professor X, it was only a mansion, but with Rogue there, he supposed it could be Home.


She screamed in frustration at him, and he couldn't help but think she looked so cute when she was furious with him.


Logan told her to follow her instincts, Storm told her there was nothing to cure in the first place, but Pyro—he knew she wasn't running away—because he knew it was all for him.


It wasn't often that he saw her cry, she didn't want to be weak, she wanted to be able to show her strength, but occasionally when she just couldn't keep it all bottled up anymore—he'd lend her a shoulder to cry on.


"Fine John, you win!" the female yelled angrily, he smugly shrugged and told her to calm down—it was just a game of Monopoly.


They'd go on with their lives just as before; she'd continue to pretend to be Marie, and he'd still deny it and let everyone think he was Pyro, and they'd hope together that no one would ever notice that she was really Rogue, and he was really John.


He had to be out of his mind, he was twenty-three, and he'd just gotten used to the idea that yes, Rogue was made for him—but this!—this threw him into a whole new spiral of possibilities, this made him a father, because this, this was a tiny baby in his arms that was smiling up at him, this was his son.


He'd grown up without parents, he'd been on his own for awhile before Xavier had found him, but now, now he had Rogue, now he had a couple of friends, and now he had a home, so he supposed that this was the closest he'd ever be to having a family, and this was the only family he'd ever need.


He hadn't wanted to trick her, he'd desperately wanted her to go with him, but even he was no fool, even though he'd made Bobby angry enough to stop Rogue even if she tried to follow him, she could never come with him—he wouldn't allow it—because she was far to precious to be in an unprotected environment, and the safest place she could be was in the mansion, as a part of the X-Men, and he'd be happy watching from afar.


As she breathed in and out quietly, her hair spread out over his pillow, in his bed, with her body nestled as close to him as she could possibly be, and for once, he was glad he was an insomniac—just so long as he could watch her sleep next to himself.


He never thought Rogue could ever scare him, but when she wants a certain pair of gloves, he'd rather stay at home.


She twirled, face upward, eyes closed, lips parted just slightly as she laughed with glee, and he though she'd never looked so beautiful while dancing in the rain.


It was obvious when John was exhausted because she would invariably choose that very night to try and jump him, and he would just tackle her to the bed, and close his eyes, because for once, all he wanted was some sleep.


It wasn't just a way of life, fighting for a specific goal and great cause, it was their profession.


Wolverine had taught her how to drink like a sailor, and curse like one too, but just because she could drink like one, didn't mean she didn't get so drunk John had to carry her to their room as she giggled quietly to herself before passing out.


As she watched another generation of free mutants grow up in the Mansion, Rogue can't help but remember what it was like for her, before the Academy, before she met John and became Mrs. Allerdyce.


After John left to join the Brotherhood, and Wolverine had gone off to try and get over Jean's death—Rogue's life had never seemed so miserable.


Most mutants at the school could act their age, but while Pyro and Rogue were young physically, mentally, though, they were well past their years.


Rogue had a way with words, and with her accents and the lips those words had to pass through, how could he say no?


It wasn't until they were alone did he whisper sweet nothings in her ear as he kissed her passionately, he had a reputation to protect, after all.


He wasn't so sure how she knew the words behind his insults, but he was grateful when she understood that despite his mocking tone and stand-offish nature, he really did love her.


When Remy decided to buy her the pair of new gloves she'd been asking John for for a week, John couldn't help but dislike the hug and kiss on the cheek she gave the Cajun, and he definitely did not like how the boy's eyes were looking at her as she walked away.


She wished he would understand, that he would realize that he was wrong, wished that he'd come back so she could let him know exactly why he should stay, wished that he'd come home because, amazingly enough, he loved her, too.


Wolverine had never liked him from the beginning, and there was no denying it was a mutual feeling, but when he and Rogue got together, the dislike suddenly multiplied dramatically on either side of the line.


He had to have heard her wrong, she couldn't possibly have just insinuated that he was too follow her to her room, and stay there, with her, all night, could she?


He wasn't one for public romances, but he'd shout to the world that she was his if she asked him, and so he did it anyways as loud as he could.


He looked at her, tears rolling down her face, but not a sound escaped her, as she sat still as stone, and he pondered if that's what her heart was made out of currently.


She didn't want to be normal, she just wanted to touch—and he just wanted to be with her.


Eyes closed, hand roaming, lips locked, but it was all lost when Wolverine, her guardian and self-proclaimed father, barged in a smug grin on his face as the he pulled them apart and gave Pyro a long lecture on what he could and could not do with his Marie.


Pyro frantically searched, praying to every god he know of that she'd be okay, and he wanted to dance when he finally felt the steady beat of her pulse beneath her flesh.


The first girl to flirt wit him got a broken nose, and the first boy to flirt with her at the mansion got a broken nose, a dead leg, and his eyebrows burned off: but now everyone knew better than to flirt with either, because it was well-known that she belonged to him, and he belonged to her and only her.


He couldn't help but jump for joy when she kindly refused the attempts of males trying to win her heart, but he could only hope she wouldn't do such to him when he finally asked.


She hated when he was right, but she hated it even more when he was wrong.


Her judgment was harsher than even Bobby's and Wolverine's, but he deserved it—he guessed, but he'd believe any judgment passed by her was just and perfect—just like she was.


When he could touch in those brief periods of time when she had a sudden burst of control, he couldn't help but marvel at how soft her skin was against his own.


He liked to think of himself as a man of considerable reason around her, but this, this would not fly—he would rather burn his own eyes then watch the Lifetime channel.


No matter how far they were separated on the map, geography could do very little to keep them apart for long.


Bobby had left his mark on her heart, but he was Pyro, and he could melt any ice—figurative or literal.


He couldn't help but notice as she stared at him with resentment and hate that her eyes had some green in them.


Fine, he admitted it: he, John Allerdyce, loved, adored, and inexplicably gravitated to her, Marie D'Ancanto.

A/N: So yea, the end. Um. For all of you that review, number one you will be loved forever, number two- I'd really appreciate to know which ones you'd like to see made into a one-shot. Cha.