Losing Control [ spencer reid x reader ] ✔

12. Nightmares and Dancing

"Are you at my place?" Spencer asks.

"I've been at your place since you left, actually," you admit to him, a blush forming over your cheeks even though he can't actually see you.

"Really?" You hear a squeak from the bed as he, presumably, lays down on it.

"Yeah." You exhale slowly. "I told you, I miss you."

"I miss you, too," he replies, his voice soft.

"You must be tired, it's late," you say, looking down analog clock on Spencer's bedside table.

"You know I'm never too tired for you," he whispers.

"Quit being cheesy and go to bed," you laugh back, his words filling you with a warmth.

"Fine, fine," he chuckles. "Hopefully, if all goes well, I should see you in...less than twenty-four hours."

"That would be nice," you whisper, crossing one of your arms in front of you.

"Okay, well, um, I'll see you soon then," Spencer says, a strange hesitancy in his voice.

"Good night, Spence.'

"Good night, y/n," he says softly. "Don't let the bed bugs bite."

You laugh before hanging up, setting your phone down beside you. The grin on your face is so big it hurts. You nestle back down under Spencer's thick comforter, resuming your show, breathing in the scent of the man who is 229 miles away from you.

•••

Your nightmare begins like it always had for the past three nights.

You're in a metal chair. It's cold—the chair seeming to burn your skin where it touches. You struggle to move, your arms and ankles tied to the chair. Everything is foggy—like you can never really focus.

The more you try to escape your bonds, the tighter they seem to get. You feel your breath rising in your chest, on the verge of panic. A strange grip holds your shoulders, but you can never look back to see who is touching you. A voice calls out—a very familiar voice, faint.

Your name echoes off the walls, eyes widening when Spencer's form comes into view. He's always dressed the same—blue bulletproof FBI vest, his gun drawn and at his side. His eyes land on you, then move to whoever is behind you.

It's like life moving in slow motion. You call out to him, but no sound seems to come out of your throat. You try screaming, Spencer! It's a trap! You're in danger! Go!, but it never comes out.

The last sound you always hear is a gun going off.

•••

You wake up screaming, like you always do when you have the nightmare.

"It's a trap! Spencer! It's a trap!"

You feel strong hands gripping your shoulders, your arms flailing, trying to escape the grip, trying to distinguish reality from the haze of your dream. Your eyelids feel glued shut, like you can't open them.

"Hey, hey! It's okay! Open your eyes!"

Spencer's voice registers in your ear and your body slowly responds. Your hands find his on your shoulders, your heart beating inside of your chest so hard it was a wonder it doesn't crack your ribs. You take deep breaths, trying to slow the ongoing panic that's racing through your veins. Slowly, your eyes open.

He's kneeling at the edge of the bed. Spencer's face is a mix of concern and confusion; his hands traveling up to your cheeks, wiping away the tears that you don't even realize are falling. You release a small sob and he pulls you to him, wrapping his arms tightly around you. Your arms run around his back, taking fistfuls of his shirt in your hands, gripping like he might dissolve into thin air at any moment. He runs a hand through your hair, whispering "it's okays" and "I'm right here's" in your ear.