CHERRY FLAVOURED || Re-Write

SEVEN

Author's Note: In this fic, YN is supposed to be black. Originally she was white when I created the story, but then thought... why... I never imagine her as white when I'm writing... i always imagined Tessa Thompson. So she's supposed to look like Tessa Thompson. Or imagine her however you'd like, because this is a fictional story.

p.s. this chapter isn't edited whatsoever. so pls cut me some slack.

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The pool is a place I never saw myself in. I didn't swim, I wasn't built for such a thing, therefore I resided on the grass, or in my case, on one of the many lounge chairs. The sun was beaming down on me as I looked into the glassy blue water, one that caused the floor and furniture to reek of chlorine and wet bodies.

I was alone that night. No one was in the room except for myself and water droplets that formed a circle beneath me. I inched my way into the pool thirty minutes before I rested on the chair, deciding that I'd much rather be dry unlike the wet dog I looked like walking out. I was sitting with a book in hand, swiping through the pages at an alarming speed. I was mad–mad enough to finish my entire log of To Be Read list in the thirty minutes I was sitting by the pool.

I was angry for a reason everyone on the team knew: YN. The infamous lady that had been wandering around acting like she knew more than everyone; more than me. She paraded around in her tight shirts and tight jeans and brown skin and eyes that beamed harshly on me everywhere she walked. It was difficult to remain afloat, to remain planted on the ground when she walked past me, and that is why I passionately hated her. Her unattainability irked me. I needed her to fold.

I was acting like an asshole. I was treating her like shit, but it was easy to act in a crude way rather than allow myself to delve into my desires. I wanted to have sex with her, but I'd have to give something up about myself in order to do so: my sanity.

Of course, I was far from sane, but there was a sliver of my body and mind that was utterly normal. If I'd completely lost my sanity, I would be slobbering over her like a starved dog, begging for only a pebble of food. I was definitely not going to act as if I needed her in order to stay alive, so I acted cold.

I sat in my chair for another thirty minutes with my glasses covering my eyes and my arms resting behind my head. I had nothing to do, and I wouldn't be caught dead spending thirteen hours in my dull hotel room. Although hating the pool, no one was outside and it was getting dark.

I thought no one would enter at this time of night. I was entirely wrong, however, because in strutted YN. She wore a boxy bra that hid nothing but her nipples and the bottom half of her breasts; the other half was spilling out. She had high-waisted bikini bottoms that didn't match the bra: black underwear that rose to her belly button and a regular cotton bra.

When I looked at her, her face was smiling: her eyebrows were to her hairline, her nose was scrunched, appearing as though she were sniffing the air, and her lips were spread wide, allowing me to see the pearly white teeth collected perfectly alongside one another.

"What're you doing here, Spencer Reid?" she asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I replied, shooting her a glare through my glasses.

She must have seen it–although nothing could be seen past the pitch black–because she scoffed. "There's no need to be rude," she said with a smile, like my comments were only fueling her.

There were times like these where I realized I picked a fight with the wrong person. I chose to sexually desire the wrong woman, and chose to be cold towards the wrong woman who most likely already knew why I was acting nonchalant and cold towards her. She had me already figured out by now, but there was a reason my IQ was higher than hers.