#FIX THE FUCKING ***SEARCH!*** MAYBE!!!! AND LEAVE MY POST EDITOR ALONE!!!!!!!

[damienthepious]

absolutely fucking disgusting, put it back. @staff a) this is quite literally the ugliest update yet and b) as i have said EVERY TIME i got prompted to explain why i was switching back to the OLD post editor, THE NEW POST EDITOR IS FUCKING GARBAGE FOR POSTING ANY LARGE AMOUNT OF TEXT REQUIRING FORMATTING, LIKE... OH.... SAY.... FANFIC AND OTHER WRITING. BRING IT THE FUCK BACK I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD.

[yoonjinkooked]

lockdown | (m) - Chapter 1

moodboard by @flajka

pairing; jungkook/female OC genre; college au, strangers to lovers, smut and tiny bit of fluff too, humor ofc rating; explicit words; 4.900

— synopsis; Eunhee is in trouble and facing a deadline - in comes curly haired jungkook to save her life, make her laugh and maybe, just maybe, fuck her brains out. When the two end up locked in a building overnight, who knows what will happen?

warnings (for this chapter): cursing, OC really wants to murder Tae, banter, cute Kook, slightly cocky Kook, hints of sexual tension. Just an introduction chapter, really. 

A/N: I hope you enjoy the first part guys. I am now starting to work on Chapter 2 and will let you know when I plan on posting it.  Let me know what you think - I’m still a tumblr newbie and basically, I’m crappin my pants. 

With that being said, let’s start chapter 1 :)

In the life of a journalism major, there are a few life-changing, stress-inducing moments that essentially serve as a preview of what’s to come if you do decide stay on your chosen career path.

For me, a handful of these moments made me question anything and everything I have ever known about the career I’ve chosen to pursue back when I was 18 and frankly, a little bit stupid. One of these moments was back when I was doing an obligatory internship at a small, local newspaper, only to realize that the editors and big shots there expected me to do nothing more than to make them coffee and copy papers in their stead.

Another moment was when I attended my first murder trial, which probably would end up being a part of my future job, only to spend the entire afternoon wondering if this really is something I want to do for the rest of my life.

And the final moment, at least the final one that I can think of right now, is currently occurring, with me losing my shit as we are trying to get the final edition of this year’s university magazine ready for printing. And I, as one of two co-editors, will be the one to blame if anything goes wrong.

Half of my grade depends on this. My future job prospects depend on this. Whether or not the professor is happy can influence the direction of my masters’ next year. This is ride or die for me and I am losing it.

“Namjoon, where the hell is he?” I ask my co-editor, best friend and partner in crime. Who also happens to be the only person on this planet who is well equipped to deal with me losing my shit.

“I know as much as you do,” he reminds me, moving the phone away from his ear. “I am trying to reach him now. You panicking will not do us any good and it definitely won’t make Taehyung answer me sooner. So don’t panic and focus on the things we already have here and work with that. The photos aren’t the only thing we need to look over before it’s ready for print.”

I nod my head franticly, knowing deep down that he has a point but also knowing that won’t help me at all. It never does because whenever I am chasing a deadline, I follow the same line of action. Work, panic, panic some more, work, panic like the world is ending, forcefully calm down and then, finally, get shit done. I am not sure if I am on the ‘panic some more’ or ‘panic like the world is ending’ phase yet but as I run fingers through my hair, letting my nerves get the best of me, I am positive said hair is gray.

I hear Namjoon cursing under his breath but for the sake of getting things done, I ignore him for now and simply focus on the task at hand – proofreading. As long as I preoccupy myself with tasks that need to be done, I cannot focus on the fact that Taehyung is late, like he always is, despite it being the one time he truly needed to be on time.

So for the next few minutes, I go over several articles in the speed of light, once, twice, three times. No matter how much they’re using spell-check, our reporters still make mistakes and honestly, when I see my name below one title, I know I am not allowed to judge because I obviously do it too.

Campus activity, student achievements, published works and former alumni ‘look, they’re famous now’ column – all covered and grammatically perfect. And Namjoon is still trying to reach the one man we need the most right now. Slowly but surely, the other students are becoming less frantic and more calm and casual, because their tasks are all but finished. Namjoon, Hoseok and I? Not so much.

“Okay, what the hell?” Hoseok throws his pen rather violently on his desk. “He does this every time. Every damn time. I’m the designer – I need to go over everything and make sure the photos are put where they belong. How can I do that if I don’t have said photos?”

“Hoseok, I know I’m not the textbook definition of calm but we need to try to be,” I tell him, turning my chair to face him over our connected desks. “Try to design it somehow, leaving the space for the photos. Vertical or horizontal, I will find good photos to fit. And if I have to change something, I will.”

“Are you sure you can do that?” he looks doubtful, which is extremely insulting, since we have known each other for three years and have been working together for more than two.

“Basic editing? Yeah, I can do that,” I roll my eyes. “If you doubt my editing skills, you can stick around till midnight to check on me.”

“No way,” he shakes his head. “It’s Jimin’s birthday party tonight and you know I need to be there.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, not even sure why, since it’s absolutely obvious that he is dead serious. “This is the most important edition we’re going to release. We’ve been doing this for years and this is our grand exit, which we need to execute perfectly, and you’re telling me you want to go to a party?”

“I’ll be going too,” Namjoon covers the speaker of his phone to tell me. “Sure, this edition is a big deal and we want it done well but most is already done and this isn’t our entire life.”

“Oh please,” I reach for something, anything, and end up hitting him on the chest with a block of post-its. “You’re just going because you hope to hook up with Hyejin, even though we all know you will just end up drunk, alone and watching her from a distance.”

“How dare you?” Namjoon is flabbergasted.

“She isn’t wrong,” Hoseok chuckles, ignoring the glare Namjoon throws his way. “But he’s right about this not being our entire life. You will burn out, Eunhee. It’s been two weeks and you haven’t stopped thinking about this once,” he tells me, as if I needed to be reminded. “This is the final edition with you being the editor. You should celebrate, not stay here after hours and pulling the hair of your head.”

“With the two of you playing beer pong and complaining about girls ignoring you, someone has to be the responsible one,” I point out. “All of this is riding on the three of us and you’re just… gonna dump me?” the betrayal is evident in my voice and yet, neither one of them is bothered enough to look guilty. Before they’re co-editor and designer, they’re just stupid, horny students.

“It’s already done Eunhee,” Namjoon rolls his eyes. “The one doing the dumping here is Taehyung and you just told Hoseok you can handle the editing. If you’re not sure, you can send him your final version and he can fix it if it needs to be fixed.”

“I am not leaving that party to fix Taehyung’s mess,” Hoseok cuts in.

“Our mess,” I remind him. “We have until 4AM to send it. So long as you’re not wasted out of your mind, it’s doable. If you even need to fix anything. Taehyung is always late but he also always brings more than enough material for us to work with. He’s a jackass but a talented jackass.”

“And a jackass who can’t answer his phone,” Namjoon adds, throwing his phone on the desk, before sighing as he slumps down onto his chair. “I’m going to regret that,” he glares at his phone.

“I can’t force you to stay here and help me,” I mumble, watching as the student reporters casually leave our office space, not even bothering to say goodbye because it’s the final week – who cares, life goes on, we’re going to see each other eventually and our portion of work is done. “I can, however, remind you of this in the years to come, guilt tripping you into doing favors. Many, many favors.”

“You make it sound like you’re not already doing that half the time,” Hoseok points out.

“Not my problem you somehow always end up owing me one. Or two. Or five,” I shrug as I turn towards my laptop, planning on searching for some stock photos we might be able to use, if Taehyung doesn’t show up. I know that he always does, last minute or not, but I can’t leave anything to chance. While stock photos would be a cop-out of sorts, we need to have a plan B.

The next two hours pass in almost complete silence. An occasionally sigh would leave Hoseok and every now and then, Namjoon would curse under his breath as he tries to reach Taehyung for what has to be the hundredth time – so far, to no avail. The panic I felt earlier had already left my system so I was able to focus on other things, all the while ignoring what seems to be our pending doom.

The sun had set and the lights are now on and that son of a bitch is still not answering his phone.

“You know, at this point I’m starting to wonder if we have better chances of finding him at Jimin’s party,” Hoseok breaks the silence. “I’m done with all the pages, I left enough space for all kinds of photos and there’s literally nothing more that we need to do.”

“Speak for yourself,” I mumble as I open the email he just sent me, showing the draft for the final version of the magazine. It looks as amazing as possible, seeing as 98% of photos are missing – instead, white blocks serve as breaks between long rows of text. “You know what? You two go. Go and have fun and if you find him, kick his ass. There’s no way he’d ever miss Jimin’s party. I’ll stay here and finish this up and when you send him to me, I’ll kick his ass too,” I tell them.

“Eunhee, are you sure?” Namjoon walks over to my desks and leans on it, giving me what I can only describe as a look of pure and utter pity. “I don’t want to leave you hanging; you’re not the only one with the responsibility here.”

Seeing as I am the only one that will sit Jimin’s birthday party out, I kind of am, but I do not say it. “It’s okay Joon,” I reassure him. “Go. Have fun. Try to get some with Hyejin. I’ll take care of this, it’s not like it’ll be the first time I pull an all-nighter. Just find that bastard and get those photos to me.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Hoseok stands up and throws a bag over his shoulder. “We will find him and I will do my best to stay sufficiently sober if you need my help. Which, if you do, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?” I nod, knowing I would rather fix it myself than have drunk Hoseok ruin it. He’s majestic with the editing software but when drunk, he can’t even walk straight, much less edit.

“Just make sure to get his USB to me, even if you have to kill him to make it happen,” I remind them. Namjoon is still worried but I roll my eyes at him, which apparently is the sign he needed to get his things and leave. I wave them out, surprisingly relieved to have the office for myself.

I am a decent team player but the last couple of years have shown me that I do my best work when I do it alone. Not to say that I take all the credit – hell no. Joon is the editor as much as I am and half the work is done by him but at times like these, I just want him out and away, busy with Hyejin. This way, if it’s a mess – it’s my mess. If it’s a work of art – it’s my work of art.

With a coffee in one hand and glasses of my head, I go over last year’s photo folder – that’s a better plan B than some basic stock photos. Some of the photos look like a decent backup – our campus hasn’t changed much over the last couple of months, after all. As long as I avoid last year’s seniors, I might be able to pull off plan B without anyone except a handful of us knowing the truth.

Even the swimming team – they have won gold last year, they have won gold this year too. The members are all the same, no new freshmen, no seniors last year. If my memory serves me well, all of them kept their natural hair colors and I can totally use said photo in this month’s edition. Sure, Jimin and the rest of the team will probably know what’s up but that’s nothing a round of beer can’t fix.

Look at me – such a professional. Bribing my way to get the work done. Yay.

In the midst of scrolling, I pause to glance at the clock – it’s almost ten and still no sign of Taehyung. Stifling down the pending panic, I take a deep breath and decide to play some music, hoping to distract myself more. While 80s rock has its charms, I still fidget as I scroll through folders upon folders, grabbing hold of my favorite koala mug again and downing the rest of the coffee in one go. Needing something to distract me further, I open the top drawer of my desk, grabbing the emergency M&Ms I’ve kept there for a few weeks now, knowing I was bound to pull an all-nighter sooner or later.

Just as I down a handful of candy, someone knocks on the office door and I nearly choke. I cough, make sure a lone M&M is not going to kill me, take a deep breath and shout a ‘come in’.

The little hope I have deflates as I realize it’s not Taehyung, the bastard himself – instead, it’s a guy I know, but not really. Tall, wavy brown hair, wide brown eyes and a slightly dumbfounded look, hidden under the hood of his black sweatshirt as he barely steps inside the office, still with one foot out as if he is ready to run.  

I am positive I know him. I’m sure we have class together, or had the year before. Or perhaps we just have classes in the same building – I know I’ve seen him before, in the background, on the side, but for the life of me, I can’t put a face to the name.

“Can I help you?” I ask, once he doesn’t speak up for a few moments.

“Yeah,” he snaps out of his daze, tilting his head before reaching for his pocket – I keep my eye on his hands, half expecting him to draw a gun and shoot me in place. “Taehyung sent me to give you this,” he says as he pulls out a USB stick out of his pocket.

Finally, I can breathe. Finally, I know I will manage to get this done tonight. “Thank fuck,” I sigh, closing my eyes for a second before opening them up again and realizing I have just confused the shit out of him. “I was positive the jackass would leave me hanging. I would have murdered him in cold blood.”

“He’d never do that,” the guy smiles at me, a smile that evaporates as quickly as it appeared; making me wonder if I even imagined it. “If he had told me sooner, you wouldn’t have to wait. He texted me like 10 minutes ago, telling me that I need to bring this to the office.”

“He left the stick with you and didn’t tell you what it’s for?”

“No, he asked me to edit the photos,” he tells me. “Oh. You don’t… I’m the G.C.F guy. I’m the other photographer,” he explains and suddenly, the little boxes in my head fall into their designated place.

Taehyung had a photography partner. I’d say a solid half of the photos we’d print were Taehyung’s, and the others belong to the guy always signed as JJK, G.C. F; I have never met him, never asked for his name and before tonight, he had never showed up in the office.

And now I can remember the guy more clearly – he always had a camera, either hanging around his neck or covering his face as he would relentlessly take photos.

“Ah, now I get it,” I smile. “I’m Eunhee, the editor.”

“I know,” he tells me. “Jeongguk.”

Yep, I know the name. It’s all clicking now.

“Well don’t just stand there Jeongguk,” I tell him as I stand up; I walk around my desk and start Hoseok’s PC, knowing that he has a better editing software ready to go. “I’m going to need your help for this. Everyone else is getting shitfaced at Jimin’s so if you’re up for it, you’re going to be the one to help me get this edition ready by 4AM. You up for it?”

Honestly, I’m not particularly surprised when he doesn’t answer me straight away – it’s not like I’m offering him free food, drinks and a night he’ll remember – quite the opposite, I’m offering him a night full of work. Simply put, I’m begging him to help me, without actually openly begging.

“Sure,” I hear him shuffle around as he puts his backpack down on the ground. “Where do you need me?”

"Just get yourself a chair," I wave my hand around the room, staring at nothing as I try to figure out where should we start from. I suppose that from the beginning is the only real answer to that one. "Hobi had set it all up for me to finish but I think I need to see what you've brought me, see what i have to work with," I decide, turning to Jeongguk, just in time to see him drag Namjoon's desk chair from the corner of the office.

"All of them are edited and ready for use," he reassures me with a tight smile as he joins me behind the desk, a good foot between our chairs. Noticing that he still has his hood up and covering half of his face, I bite my tongue and decide not to wonder why - he has his reasons, I suppose.

"Then we just need to decide what goes where and that is where you come to my rescue."

"What makes you think that should be my call?" he asks, not bothering to hide his surprise.

"Well, you're a photographer," I announce, as if the guy is not aware of his profession. "Doesn't that officially make you a better judge when it comes to esthetic mumbo jumbo?" I ask, because I truly don’t know. I am not familiar with the job requirements a photographer needs to fulfill, other than to have a camera, of course. I simply imagine they have some sense of beautiful. Wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about something and that is why I ask – there’s no shame in not knowing.

After a beat of silence Jeongguk looks at me, keeping direct eye contact for one whole second, which is time enough for me to conclude that he is cute, ridiculously so. Cute in a way that no man in his early 20s is allowed to be. Yet not cute enough to make me focus on him instead of the task before us.

"I guess so," he tilts his head as i force my jaw shut - now is not an appropriate moment for ogling. "Aren't you the boss lady though?"

"Boss lady," I test the nickname and roll my eyes. "Difficult to work with, perhaps. Bossy? Don’t think so. But I’m taking it because I obviously need your help tonight - I am good with words, not at making them look good on paper."

“What you need to do here is not that hard,” he waves at the monitor and I turn to look at him. “Deciding on which photo should go where depends on… the overall page. The colors, the neighboring photos and countless other things. There are no rules – just feeling. Photography is feeling,” he waves his hands about as he talks, completely immersed in his explanation and making me wonder if he’s talking about this particular problem or just photography and its misconceptions in general.

“No rules?” I ask through a chuckle. “That���s not what people told me when I took a selfie from a downward angle.”

To my shock and frankly, shame, he stares at me in silence, blinking once, twice, three times. I gulp. “That was supposed to be a joke,” I elaborate in a low voice, as I hope that the ground will split in two and just swallow me into a never-ending dark hole. Or that Hobi’s PC will finally be usable.  

“Oh. Okay.”

Well, this settles it then – absolutely no possibility of mild, harmless flirtation. That flat-lined reaction will end up being a source of trauma for me in the years to come – I just know I will end up awake at 3AM in like five years, thinking of how awkward this particular moment was.

“Finally,” I feel relieved now that I can actually work with Hobi’s PC – I slide the flash in, on the first go. I nearly celebrate the seemingly impossible victory but I decide to hold myself back. If Jeongguk can’t take a joke, he will probably think I am insane if I behave like I normally would. “Now let’s see what we have here,” I mumble, opening the pop up. One folder named 1 – I open it. I click on the first photo, of a group of students sitting on grass and talking (looks absolutely staged but based on what I know about Taehyung and his G.C.F partner, they don’t roll that way). I smile when I see a photo of our swimming team huddled up together, gold medals hanging around their necks – I won’t have to use last year’s photos after all. “These are really good. Perfectly edited too. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, it’s my job,” Jeongguk mumbles as he eyes the photos I scroll through. I can no longer tell if he’s serious or joking and I simply give it up altogether – who cares?

“This will fit perfectly,” I mumble as I finish going through the bunch of photos and end up on the first one – the one with a bunch of people that looks absolutely staged. I exit and go back to the folder, then back to the original one. It’s as if I could feel, actually physically feel, my heart slowly sliding down inside of my body. I go back and open the folder again, looking as the fear slowly grows in me. “Jeongguk, where are the other photos?” I somehow manage to utter.

“They’re all there,” he tells me, his eyes going wide when he notices the look of pure and utter horror on my face. “Taehyung told me you need 20 photos, no more, no less. There are 24, I added 4 more just in case, if you didn’t like some of them… Eunhee, what is going on?”

My chest goes up and down frantically as I try to calm the whole tornado of emotions that starts within me. Panic, worry, sadness and more than anything else, anger. Pure anger. “I will murder him.”

“What? Who will you… Taehyung?”

“I said,” I slowly speak, pausing for deep breaths. “200 photos. 200 photos, no more, no less. 200 from which we would end up using more than 100. I said 200, not 20.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit.”

“What… where are you going?” Jeongguk asks as I jump off my chair and nearly fly over the desk to grab my handbag. I throw my phone inside of it and turn to look at him, only to find him flinching away from me. Apparently, I look as angry as I feel.

“I am going to Jimin’s birthday party,” I announce. “Where I will grab Kim Taehyung by the neck, drag him outside, throw him onto the ground and murder him in front of the entire student body. I’m thinking strangulation is the way to go. You should come too, take a few photos of it for the delayed magazine edition.”

“No!” Jeongguk snaps but I am already heading towards the door. His hand wraps around my wrist and he drags me back towards the desk.

“What?”

I don’t know what else to say because why the hell did he pull me like that?! I wasn’t actually going to murder Taehyung, no matter how much I might want to do so.

Jeongguk rolls his eyes at me and I feel even more stupid than he made me feel minutes ago. The nerve. “If you go there and yell at Taehyung, or even kill him in cold blood, you’re just going to end up wasting valuable time,” he tells me. Okay, true, I can’t argue with him on that one. “Not to mention that you won’t get the photos. He doesn’t have them on him at all times and even if he did, they aren’t edited.”

“So what you’re trying to tell me is that I am fucked? Like, missionary, sideways, in the ass fucked?”

“I wouldn’t choose that particular wording, but yes,” he sighs. “If you stay here, you’re not fucked. Just… follow me. It’ll make sense soon,” he seems impatient as he grabs hold of my wrist again and this time, he drags me out the door. I actually stumble to keep up with him, too confused to even ask him what the flying fuck he is doing and where the hell we’re going. He walks fast and with him dragging me behind him, I have no choice but to break into a light jog to keep my arm attached to my body.

Down the hallway and to the left, Jeongguk drags me towards the last door, in front of which he finally stops. He starts fidgeting and feeling himself up and down. It takes me a moment to realize that he is looking for the keys. “What are we doing here, what is this place?”

“This,” he unlocks the door and smiles at me mischievously. “Is my office.”

As soon as he turns on the light, it all makes perfect sense – it’s a darkroom. A darkroom which I had no idea existed, even though I have spent a bigger part of my college education just down the hallway. “Don’t just stand there, come on in,” Jeongguk urges me but I do not move. The hood that still covers half of his face, paired with the room’s red light, is making him look pretty ominous.

“No thanks, these places are as creepy as they seem in movies.”

Jeongguk laughs and shakes his head. “They’re not creepy. Suit yourself.”

“What the hell are we doing here?” I ask, feeling my earlier agitation return. Fix the mess then kill Taehyung. Stopping by a darkroom was not on my to-do list. “How the hell can this help?”

“As I said, this is my office,” he tells me and I see him rummaging through the top drawer in one of the desks that are lined up against a wall. “I keep my work here. Some, not all. Useless work mostly. Random campus photos I take just because I think the moment is worth capturing.”

“While that is very poetic and deep, how the heck can that help us now?”

“Haven’t I just said I take random campus photos?” he asks in annoyance. “I have at least one flash drive with random photos like the ones you might need. I’m a good photographer and,” he waves his hand and I notice something black in it – he walks over to me, takes my hand and puts the flash into it. “I’m the one who will make your words look good on paper.”

It’s not what he said – it’s the way he said it. For the first time tonight, his hood did not block my view of his entire face. The way his eyebrows lifted, followed by a smug smile and head tilt, my heart went into overdrive. His expression and the fact that he is a solid foot taller than I am makes it so easy for me to feel tiny, irrelevant, overpowered.

Despite being the talkative one of the duo, I am speechless for a moment because good lord, does he look hot right now. Like… please slam me against the wall and leave hickeys down my neck hot.

“Come on boss lady,” he laughs down at me. “Work awaits.”

What the fuck happened to the shy guy who couldn’t keep eye contact for longer than a second?! He is giving me whiplash! I again have to run to catch up with him but I do it without complaining, realizing that for tonight, he is my lifeline. This random dude who’s good at photography is my only hope.

Tonight’s going to be a very long night.

[dahvangogh]

EROS, LUDUS AND PRAGMA, chapter one | duncan shepherd

Author Note: don’t have much to say, i’m too awkward lmao. this is the first chapter of this fic, not very happy with how it came out but i hope you all enjoy it. i will also upload it to AO3 and maybe Wattpad (not sure about that one lmao). you can reblog, comment or leave a like, whatever you prefer. Also, i pictured Duncan wearing that amazing look he wore on episode 3 and my OC, even though i do describe it, wears this amazing look.

There is no right or wrong anymore, there is only being in or out. She knew that very well, after all her mother worked for the Madame President, a woman who all she cared about was to end up on top, no matter the consequences or who she had to bring down.

Being a reporterfor District of Columbia Post wasn’t something she had always wanted, even though she had been curious from a young age and wanted to learn everything about anything remotely interesting, she dreamed of being a famous painter. Unfortunately, growing up as a Latino American, even though it was one of the largest ethnic minorities in the US, had been hard in Washington D.C. The rich white families controlled everything, with money and connections they had the key to survival in that damned city, and she didn’t have that.

‘You better work hard, Isabella.’ her mother always told her. ‘Nothing in life is free, what you get is due to your effort.’ 

Victoria Aguilar wasn’t a weak woman. A single mother of two while also working a part-time job at a supermarket and getting her degree on International Relations at Elliott School of International Affairs. She had worked hard all her life, her very united family helping her raise her children while she studied her ass off and made a name for herself. She had been so good at her job that the one and only Claire Underwood asked her to be her personal secretary. Many years later when Claire became the Chief Executive Officer of Clean Water Initiative, her mother was there behind her. After the Underwood’s won more and more power, Victoria followed Claire wherever she went and lastly, when she became the first woman to serve as President of the United States, her mother still remained working faithfully for Claire.

So Isabella knew she needed to stop dreaming and become someone important, not to gain as much money as her mother but to earn herself a place in that city.

Isabella won many scholarships, always the first of her class and ready to help anyone in need, and ended up graduating with honors on Journalism and Mass Communication at The George Washington School of Media and Public Affairs. One of her teachers was so impressed with her hard work that he asked her to join his crew at the District of Columbia Post.Gladly she acceptedand the team worked hard to air one of the biggest scandals of 201: a Senator who had sexually assaulted three different women in the past and now participated in many orgies of different important business men. When they had found out that some of those sex workers where women from East Europe trying to earn their citizenship, women who had crossed the border of Mexico searching for a better life for them and even underage girls forced into participating in those private parties, they gathered everything they could and exposed him.

The scandal had made her an important asset to the company, her fearless journalism and diligent work gaining an excellent reputation with her coworkers, editors and boss. Now she had an small office and much support from the company.

Isabella had sleep through her alarm that Wednesday morning. Fortunately, her best friend Amanda called to remind her of their girls night out tonight and fifteen minutes later she was running out of her apartment while calling her boss. Old John just laughed at her, and being the best boss he was, he just reassured her that it was fine and to take her time to get to work.

When she stepped a foot on the elevator and clicked the sixth floor, Isabella finally felt like she could breath. Even though John had reassured her over the phone that it was fine and her other editors would probably just laugh at her for having overslept, she always felt like she couldn’t allow herself to make mistakes. The Aguilars always tried to be perfect, professional and personally.

She stared at the mirror, letting her hair down from that horrible ponytail she had done earlier and fixed her red lipstick quickly. Isabella examined her outfit, she had quickly chosen a camp-collared white blouse with short sleeves and buttoned front tucked inside a pair of high-waisted black suit pants, her favorite ankle strap black heels for work and a black blazer. At least I look good, she thought happily while adjusting her heavy working bag that hanged on her left shoulder.

Eventually the doors opened at her floor and when she crossed them, the singsong voice of her good friend made her grunt in embarrassment.

‘Morning, sleepyhead!’

Sarah Walker was a tall, blonde and athletic woman with the best humor in the world. The two girls had become close after working in many stories, they were quite close in age after all the blonde was only 4 years older, and then when they shared an office together their bond became even stronger.

Her friend sneaked an arm over her shoulders and together they walked to Isabella’s office.

‘It happens to all of us, you idiot.’ the wink the blonde gave her, exaggerated almost childlike, made her laugh out loud. ‘Remember when I had that marathon of Gossip Girl and that bottle of red wine? Lord knows how I even got to wake up before 11 am.’’

Isabella crossed her doors office and quickly sat down, resting her back on her comfortable chair and closing her eyes. Sarah smiled at the sigh that escaped her friends lips, then leaned on the table besides her and patted her shoulder.

‘Bad night, huh?’ which the brunette just nodded as an answer. ‘Elle, you know that if you need to talk about anything, even about the weather or how you took a shit this morning, I’m here. You know that, right?’’

The brunette laughed and nodded again, patting the hand of her friend as a thank you for the comfort. She rose from her chair, unbuttoned the blazer and walked to her coat stand beside the only window of the room.

‘Girl, your ass looks bomb on those pants!’ Sarah squealed cheekily making her blush instantly. ‘Between having those big tits and that ass, I’m about to start considering murdering you and illegally transplanting them to me.’

She laughed out loud at the craziness of the blond, sat on her chair again and then removed her laptop from her working bag, placing it on her desk and opening the lid.

‘Miss Frankenstein, please leave my office immediately or I will call the SWATS.’ the brunette signaled her door while funnily pursing her lips, voice mockingly stern.

‘Oh! Maybe those lips too!’ her friend answered while walking backwards to the door. ’So thick and big, Kyle Jenner wishes!’

‘Fuck off already!’

Their loud laughs always behind their words, Sarah bidded goodbye for now with a wink and then disappeared towards the left side of the hallway towards her own office. Then when she was alone, Isabella started her laptop and took her notes out of her bag, scattering them on her desk.

She started reading and typing quickly.

‘’You sure about that?’’ she asked to Chad on the phone while crossing the steps back to her office.

An hour and half from her arrival she couldn’t stand another second without caffeine, her sleepless night fucking her routine and making her almost fall asleep on her desk. So she rose from her chair, went to their office kitchen and made herself a big black cup of coffee.

Then Chad King, another journalist and good coworker, called her. While she carried her cup of coffee in one hand, the other was busy holding her phone to her ear. Their team was going after another Congressman, they did that a lot, who they suspected had committed tax fraud and was covering it with bribes.

‘I just talked with his ex-wife… she obviously wants to speak up for a good sum of money, you know how this housewives are but I think we can find other sources.’’

‘We have his former secretary and the testimonies of other employee, so I don’t think the ex-wife is necessary in this.’ She smiled at John when passing by his office, the old man smiling in return at her. ‘Now we have many information so we need to sort it out and build this in a…’

Isabella pushed her door open with her bum and when she turned around to get inside his office, the sight that greeted her made her stop on her tracks. A young handsome man, no older than thirty, was standing in the middle of her office as if he owned the goddamn place. It seemed he had been looking at the painting she had hanged over in the main wall, behind her big desk, with some sort of contemplation but when she stepped a foot inside the room his undivided attention was fully upon her.

She tried to not gasp when he fully turned around towards her, for he was of extraordinary beauty. Tall, much taller than her which wasn’t something unusual, with beautiful brown locks and a chiseled face covered in stubble.

Black leather jacket with black jeans and nice shoes, he reminded her of those heartthrobs she found extremely attractive in movies. Isabella was passionate about classical art and she could swear his face had been crafted by Michelangelo himself. That nose, neither big or small, with those gorgeous lips and that strong jaw. He was asymmetrically perfect, her finger tingled from the need to sketch his face

‘Isabella? Are you there?’ Chad voice never had sounded more annoying that in that moment over the phone. ‘Hello?’

She blinked and closed the gap between her desk and her, quickly resting her coffee near her laptop.

‘Yes, sorry Chad...’ hurriedly she answered his coworker. ‘Something came up here, I will call you later.’

‘Okay, I will get a coffee and review some of the files. Talk later!’

The conversation ended and she left her phone next to her coffee, awkwardly staying there looking at him. Funnily, he did the same. He was just staring at her with those gorgeous blue eyes while a small smirk graced his lips.

‘Starry Night Over the Rhone by Vincent Van Gogh, huh’ his deep voice broke the silence.

Isabella raised her eyebrows surprised and peeked at the painting behind her, a soft smile appearing then.

‘Unfortunately most people only know about the Starry Night and not this one, but I find it even more breathtaking than any he has done.’ her voice full of admiration for the artist. She joined her hands in a soft clap. ‘Anyways, what can I help you with Mr…?’

He stood proudly, his smirk grew bigger while his eyes shined.

‘Duncan Shepherd’ he extended his hand and she clasped it in greeting. She tried not to show a reaction to that surname, because thanks to her mother she had heard many things about the family, and just smiled kindly.

‘Isabella Aguilar’

‘I know. May I?’ he then gracefully signaled the chair in front of her desk, asking for permission to take a sit.

She raised one of her eyebrows surprised but quickly tried to mask her surprised as good as possible.

‘Please.’

He sat as she did the same on her chair, the desk a big barrier between them which made her feel less anxious about having a handsome stranger who embodied more confidence and grace than she would ever do in her life.

‘I’m here to talk about a column published this past Wednesday.’

The woman just pressed her full lips for a brief second before smiling awkwardly at him.

‘Well, I think you should have this conversation with one of the chief editors or maybe the CEO.’ she joined her hands in front of her. ‘Even though I’m an editor, I’m also a journalist and I don’t have any say about those matters. I could call my boss if you want and…’

‘That won’t be necessary, Miss Aguilar.’ he elegantly crossed his legs while also joining his hands around his right knee, his black jeans tightening around his thighs. She tried not to bit her lips at the sight. ‘I came to see you, your boss won’t be necessary in this conversation.’

Mierda, he is fucking handsome.

She just raised her eyebrows again and tried to appear as confident as possible, for Duncan was intimidating in the way he carried himself. His confidence, elegance and graciousness made him look like he owned the fucking place. And it was her office, she should be the one feeling confident and not him.

‘As I was saying, this past Wednesday a column of this newspaper talked about my family’s dealings with ex-congressman Andrew Bernard, I believe you know who he is.’ she nodded, a few months ago her colleagues and her had uncovered how that congressman had been committing tax fraud while also bribing people to cover many dealings he did with different cartels. ‘And as you can understand, those accusations might damage our image to the public. So I came here to suggest that you might consider telling your coworker to do another refuting that information.’

What in the…?

‘Again Mr. Shepherd, I believe there is a misunderstanding here.’ she couldn’t contain the smile that graced her lips while she leaned back on her chair. ‘If you want to talk about that then you should do it with whomever wrote it. I don’t have anything to do with it.’’

‘Oh, really?’ the sarcasm was clear on his voice.

She just nodded back.

‘That’s funny, you know?’ he leaned closer to the desk, licking his lips quickly. She tried not to stare at them. ‘Because I know who your mother is, who she works for and how much it would help her owner..’

Isabella briskly sat straight on her chair surprised at those nasty words, quickly interrupting the pompous asshole.

‘Her owner?’ she almost spat those words back, the color on her cheeks a bit more pink than before. ‘My mother doesn’t have an owner, she is not a pet, and I would kindly ask you to take those words back or…’

He had the nerve to look slightly surprised at her outburst.

‘Pardon my bluntness, but I’ve seen how she runs after the Madame president and she really is the perfect embodiment of a lapdog. ’ he now leaned back, clearly satisfied with his words, nonchalantly gesturing while speaking. ‘That’s why I’m sure that thatinformation was handed to you by her and then you did the same with the columnist. As you probably know already, Underwood is not on good terms with my family and would love to destroy our image.’

The brunette just laughed out loud at how surreal the situation was, quickly trying to cover her mouth with her right hand. Duncan just raised an eyebrow, not understanding what was funny in what he had said.

‘I’m sorry, it’s just… I’m…’ she tried to control her smile, positioning both her hands at the desk. ‘Duncan, rest assured that I have nothing to do with the column. I don’t work for my mother and she has never influenced any of my work, not now not ever.’

He opened his mouth to reply back but she raised her hand to stop him, a mockingly smile now gracing her lips, while she leaned as close to him as the desk allowed it.

‘But if your family doesn’t want to tarnish their lovely reputation, then they should stop doing dealings with those kinds of people.’ her smile grew even wider. ‘I’m not gonna lie, Duncan. I’ve heard many things about your family, and if some of them came out, the least of your problems would be the reputation bit. Right?’

Duncan leaned closer, his smile dangerously ferocious while his eyes shined with wonder. They both stared at each other, a clear battle of how-would-look-away-first and dominance. Isabella raised her eyebrows and he answered the gesture with a soft smile, making her take a peek at those full lips of his. She tried not to gasp at the sudden pang in her chest, or how her tummy felt weird.

Good Lord, why is he so fucking attractive?

Quickly she rose from her place as he leaned back on the chair. Isabella placed her hands at both sides of her hips and raised her chip up, she was sure she looked like the embodiment of a woman in control. She actually wasn’t. Her fingertips tingled with the need to draw him while she felt warmth bloom down there.

He just stared at her from where he sat, a weird look on his face that made her even more uneasy than she had been seconds ago. His face didn’t give anything away.

Why is he staring at me like that?

‘So, having set things straight, I will kindly ask you to leave for I have work to do.’ she tried sound nonchalant, voice clear without stuttering like a teenager with a new crush, and smiled politely. ‘I believe you know where the door is?’

Duncan tried to suppress a smile, quickly licking his lips while standing up, and reached for her cup of coffee that rested forgotten next to her laptop.

‘You should warm that up, it has ran cold.’ his smirk made her wiggle her toes, almost as if they had been hit with electricity, something she did when she was feeling nervous. Then leaned back with his hands placed behind his back.

He approached the door slowly, or so she thought, opening the door completely for it had been ajar since before when she had come inside the room. When he had set a foot on the threshold, he looked over his shoulder and stared at her.

‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Isabella.’

And with a nod, he just walked out of there.

The girl just stared at the empty space of the door where he had been standing seconds ago, almost dumbfounded or in a weird trance. She probably stood there like a fool for a few minutes until she blinked too many times and finally came back from it.

Isabella quickly went to the door and closed it, then turned around and went to her working bag, fishing out her sketch book and placing it in front of her on the desk. She should have went back to her work, calling Chad back and doing the outline of the headline they should submit to John later that morning.

She should have done all of that.

But she didn’t.