F**k It You're Mine
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Sarie Writes
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Amara never plans on getting tangled up with Jace, the kind of guy everyone warns you about with a knowing look and a shake of the head. He is intense, unpredictable, and far too used to getting exactly what he wants. At first, she pushes back, holding tight to her independence and refusing to be another story people whisper about. But Jace does not play by rules, especially when it comes to her. The pull between them is fierce, addictive, and impossible to ignore. Every glance lingers, every touch feels charged, and every step away becomes harder than the last. As tension builds and control slips, Amara must figure out where she stands in a connection that feels as thrilling as it is overwhelming.
The Observer
Amara Blake had always been an observer. Not the kind who stood on the sidelines waiting to be seen, but the kind who watched closely, memorizing every detail, every flicker of expression, every word left unspoken.
She was good at it, honed from years of feeling like an outsider, like a puzzle piece that almost fit but not quite. The kind of girl who wasn’t made for loud rooms, flashing lights, or crowded hallways.
She was made for quiet libraries, late-night study sessions, and the comforting rustle of pages turning. University life was a lot of things—chaotic, overwhelming, exciting—but parties? No thanks.
Amara’s world revolved around psychology lectures, essays about the human mind, and dreams bigger than the small town she’d left behind. She wasn’t naive.
She knew exactly who Jace Knight was before she ever heard his name whispered down the dorm halls. He was the kind of bad boy every girl knew—dangerous in a way that made their stomachs twist and their hearts beat faster. Leather jackets, sharp smirks, a reputation like wildfire.
The kind of boy who broke rules, broke hearts, and never stayed long enough to fix the damage. Amara had no illusions about him.
He was trouble, and trouble was the last thing she wanted. But still, she noticed him.
How could she not? There was something magnetic about Jace, even from across a crowded lecture hall or when his laugh echoed a little too loudly at the campus café. He didn’t just walk into a room—he owned it.
And for all his swagger and cocky charm, there was a shadow in his eyes. A flicker of something guarded, like he carried a weight no one else could see.
Amara often caught herself wondering what stories lay beneath that hard exterior. Was he just playing the part of the bad boy?
Or was he really as broken as the rumors said? She told herself to stop.
He was not her problem. She had her own battles to fight, her own dreams to chase. Psychology wasn’t just a major for her—it was a map to understanding people like Jace. People who seemed wild and reckless on the outside but were hurting underneath.
It was a fascination she kept tightly locked away. Because she was careful. Careful with her heart. Careful with who she trusted. Careful with the kind of trouble that walked with Jace Knight.
Amara’s days were a balancing act—class, part-time work at the campus library, and evenings spent buried in textbooks. She didn’t have time for distractions.
Especially not ones wrapped in leather and lined with danger. But the universe, as it so often did, had a way of flipping her carefully constructed world upside down.
It started small. A chance encounter in the library.
Jace leaning against the stacks, flipping a book around in his hands like it was a prop in a show he’d never auditioned for. She had been startled to see him there. Not that he ever really belonged, but somehow he’d slipped in like a shadow.
Their eyes met for a brief second. He smirked.
She looked away. The moment lingered, though, like a silent promise.
Campus was a stage where rumors and secrets danced. Jace’s name was tossed around with a mixture of awe and caution. The girls who chased him whispered about his charm and scars. The guys envied his effortless confidence.
And Amara? She was content to keep him at arm’s length.
Until she wasn’t. One crisp autumn afternoon, Amara found herself in the student lounge, headphones in, focused on a lecture recording. She didn’t hear him approach.
“Blake.” His voice was rough but smooth, like gravel and silk.
She froze, heart skipping. She pulled out her earbuds and glanced up.
There he was. Close enough that she could see the faint scar above his eyebrow. A flicker of vulnerability in his eyes that he tried to mask with a cocky grin.
“Hey, Knight,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “What do you want?”
“Nothing.” He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Just thought I’d say hi.”
Amara blinked, surprised by how her chest tightened. “Hi.” The word felt awkward, like stepping on fragile glass.
He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that didn’t quite fit the bad-boy image she had built up. “Psychology major, right?”
She nodded, curious despite herself.
“Ever think about what makes people tick?”
“That’s kind of the point.”
He shrugged. “Guess I’m a little curious about that too.”
Amara stared at him, wanting to believe there was more beneath the surface, while knowing better than to get involved.
Days passed, and the two kept crossing paths in hallways and cafés, exchanging quick words, awkward smiles, and teasing jabs.
Jace was like a puzzle Amara couldn’t stop trying to solve, and like any puzzle, some pieces were jagged and sharp. He was frustrating, infuriating, but oddly compelling. He challenged everything she thought she knew about him and about herself.
She told herself it was just a game. A temporary distraction. But games had a way of becoming dangerous.
One evening, Amara sat on her dorm balcony, wrapped in a blanket against the chill. Her phone buzzed. A message from Jace.
CHAT:Amara
Jace
See you tomorrow.
Her heart skipped. She wasn’t sure if it was hope or fear. Or maybe both.
Because as much as she wanted to keep him at a distance, as much as she knew the warning signs flashing bright as neon lights, there was no denying the space between them was closing. And sometimes, when you stand on the edge, the fall is inevitable.
The bad boy. The good girl. The line between them was thinner than anyone dared admit.
And the night was just beginning.
***
The music was too loud. The air was too thick. And someone had already spilled beer on her boots. Again.
She clutched her phone like a lifeline, thumbs flying over the screen.
CHAT:Amara
Amara
You ready to dip? This place smells like regrets and tequila.
She glanced up, scowling as a drunk frat guy stumbled past her and offered a slurred wink.
Gross.
“I told you this was a bad idea.” She adjusted her faux leather jacket. “But no. Let’s be normal for once, Amara. Let’s have fun.”
Yeah. Fun.
She turned to leave.
And froze.
Because Jace Knight had just walked in.
Dark jeans. Black hoodie. Pierced lip. That smirk like he was already two steps ahead of everyone in the room and just waiting for the world to catch up. He was all sin wrapped in six feet of chaos and cocky swagger.
And unfortunately, he was also her worst damn mistake waiting to happen.
His gaze landed on her like heat.
Of course it did.
He walked straight toward her.
“Didn’t peg you for the party type, Blake,” he drawled, voice low and lazy, like every word was dipped in honey and fire. “What happened? Run out of books to read and people to judge?”
She rolled her eyes. “Didn’t peg you for the breathing type. Guess we’re both surprised tonight.”
A slow grin curved his lips. Dangerous. Infuriating. Addictive.
“You’ve missed me,” he said, mock sincerity dripping from his voice.
“In what twisted timeline?”
Jace stepped closer, the space between them tightening like a lit fuse. The crowd pulsed around them, bodies moving to bass and booze, but she only felt him. His stare. His heat. His proximity.
“You gonna keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, “or are you finally gonna admit you want me?”
Amara laughed. “Please. I’d rather kiss a cactus.”
“Bite me.”
“Gladly. Hope you’ve had your shots.”
Jace chuckled, deep and dark.
Someone bumped into him, pushing him just close enough that their chests nearly brushed.
He didn’t move back.
Neither did she.
A voice cut through the noise. A mutual friend. Half drunk and reckless. “Ten bucks says Blake wouldn’t survive one night with you, Jace!”
The group erupted.
Jace’s eyes lit up. “Double it,” he said, never looking away from her, “and I’ll prove her wrong tonight.”
Someone whooped. Someone yelled, “Get it, King!”
Amara’s jaw tightened. “I’m not a game.”
“You’re the only thing I’d play for real,” Jace said, his voice shifting lower. Sharper. “Unless you’re scared.”
Her brows lifted. “Scared? Of you?”
He leaned down, close enough for her to smell mint, smoke, and trouble. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, “if you give me one night, you’ll be begging me not to stop.”
She should have slapped him. She wanted to slap him.
Instead, her breath hitched. “You’re disgusting,” she snapped, turning away.
His fingers closed around her wrist. Not hard. Just enough. “Say the word and I’ll let go,” he said quietly.
She didn’t. She turned back slowly, staring up into those sharp, dark eyes that always seemed to undress her without permission. “One night,” she said softly. “No strings. No feelings. Just physical.”
Jace smiled like a man who had just won a war. “Deal.” Then his voice dropped, darker than before. “Just know, once I touch you, you’re not touching anyone else.”
They barely made it upstairs.
The guest bedroom door closed behind them, mouths clashing, hands roaming. She hated how fast she melted. Hated that his kiss tasted like sin and salvation. Hated that his fingers knew exactly where to press.
It was reckless. Stupid. Addictive.
When it was over, they lay side by side in breathless silence. Jace turned toward her. “You’re mine now.”
Her heart slammed. “I said no strings,” she whispered.
His thumb brushed her lower lip. “You said you had no feelings,” he replied. “I never agreed.”
