Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Summary: Sometimes, she feels tempted —oh, so tempted

Lyrics: Big Bad Wolf from Lana Del Rey.

A/N: *Rips chest open* Here's a piece of my heart. Please handle with care.

—I'll take the wrong path,
I think I'll go a little off track—

Burning Fire

.

He's not soft and gentle as she expects, and that surprises her.

His kisses are hungry, deep and rough against her lips, a most interesting mix between demanding and desperate that makes her heart flutter with coiling warmth in her chest.

She has to admit that she kinda likes that hint of desperation in his kisses, how he drinks from her skin with the thirst of a man who just crossed a dessert, and the dazzling way he ignites at her touch as if she were the very fuel that feeds his fire.

She's slowly becoming addicted to that foreign sense of longing and belonging she's never felt before, because all the men in her past burned her like cigarettes and vanished like thin smoke —they were nothing but a temporary shelter during stormy skies and rainy days. But this man, this very man, he feels like something more than safe haven: he feels like home. He makes her feel like burning coal and melting lava; his fire tricks her into thinking she can burn forever, but she's certain that once he leaves her heart will either turn to ashes or solid stone —it will either be broken beyond repair, or drain out of any emotion.

She knows he loves her —or he thinks he does, whatever the hell love means— and she probably shouldn't encourage him any further into this impossible romantic dream of his, because she's sure she can't love him back—at least not the same way he does, with that blind, stubborn determination that she finds utterly incomprehensible— but there is no shame or guilt when her hands roam over the bare skin of his chest, tracing the outline of his abs and muscles as he quivers and huffs softly under her fingers. She pauses to dip her thumbs in the hollow of his collarbone, grabbing the back of his shoulder and squeezing gently when he slants his mouth over and claims her lips with a kiss.

No, she doesn't love him. There's no hint of love when she locks her lips with his; no romantic promise when her tongue slips inside his mouth and strokes fiercely against his; there's only lust in her kisses, wanton in her touch, and she fools herself into believing that he knows that, and that that's enough for him.

Although knowing him, even if she were to do this out of pity, he would probably be okay with it.

—Because he's just that desperate for her, isn't he? And as bad as it sounds, she can't deny that her heart swells a little when that thought crosses her mind—

But oh, there's nothing, not a single little thing to pity about him. He's hot —ironically hot for someone who likes to hide a God-like body under ridiculous amount of clothing— all fair skin and muscles, enough to make her heart skip a beat or two when the extra layers are gone and he stands before her bare-chested —as we speak now.

He hovers over and breathes three words in her ear, his voice shaky and broken by something far stronger than the cold wrecking his body. Her name follows in a whisper, a hunting sound that lingers in her skin and she can almost taste in her lips as if words turned into ghostly kisses that fluttered all over her. He overflows sweetness, and she can't help but melt a little inside at the longing in his tone.

She hums softly in acknowledgment, grateful that he doesn't push her further for an answer she doesn't have, one she's not sure she can lie out.

Because he deserves better, right?

He's sweet and honest and all the things she knows guys will fake to be until they get what they want and ditch you for someone new.

But he… he's not like the occasional crushes he's had before: he's different, and that terrifies her.

He's nothing like the men she's fucked for fun and ended up fucking her up. She learned the hard way that love is not a game she's very good at, and she ran out of chips to gamble way too early in the bet.

She likes bad boys because they are predictable —they all want the same and they don't stick around long enough to make you miss them. But good boys —good boys like him— they are the worst.

They ignite feelings you've long forgotten, they delude you into believing that they'll be there for you forever and when you least expect it, they rip your heart out of your chest and step on it.

Good boys always find a way to crawl under your skin and take over your heart. They fly you to the moon and drop you down to earth after ripping your wings off your back and telling you they are sorry.

She's reluctant to take the fall again. Besides, she's not sure she has any romantic feelings left to spare to another human being.

She's a ragged doll, stuffed with broken dreams and patched with cynicism.

But he pets and pampers her as if she were made of the finest porcelain, and that touches and scares her at the same time (because she's uncertain if he's truly aware she's not that image of perfection he's fooled himself into believing she is).

She's far from flawless. If anything, she's all kinds of messed up and ten tones of terrible —but he doesn't seem to see it, or he doesn't seem to care.

And she thinks that he could do so much better with someone else —someone whole and caring who would actually whisper those words back at him and mean it, really mean it.

Even so, that doesn't stop her from dragging him down that path of inevitable heartbreak. Because this can't end up well, prince charming is not meant to fall in love with the wicked witch and she's not supposed to love him back. She's no princess to this absurd fairy tale of his, no matter how badly he wants to be her knight in shiny armor.

He pulls away from her lips and says the words again, drunken eyes clouded by affection locking into hers, and she can do nothing but bite her lip and hold his gaze.

Sometimes, she feels tempted —oh, so tempted— to say something stupid and reckless like me too.

.

And soon she finds herself running out of reasons not to.

—But I heart you and I wanna be your girl
I heart you and I know you'll rock my world—

.

A/N: I have to say something: I'm a total SUCKER for the Juvia x Bora relationship and my Edolas take on that, is that Bora was actually Mr. Nice. Yes, he was such a good boy haha. And Juvia's relationship with him totally fucked her up because he totally SMASHED her heart, ripped it into shreds and flushed it down the toilet. There. I'm evil.

By the way, this piece I wrote right after I finished Sober. It was supposed to be sort of a sequel.

-Huh- another thing… some people mentioned that she's more into him that he is into her? Reaaaally? You think that!? –laughs- I don't think that's even possible, or maybe I'm deluding myself… and maybe I should write Gray's POV next -Hehe-

Thanks to the people who reviewed, YOU'RE AWESOME. (Please do it again, no, seriously do it.)