Spencer Reid One-Shots

Why is it so hard?

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

summary: Spencer has cooked a meal for both of you, but you find yourself unable to take a bite.

words: 1,2k

warnings: food struggles/eating disorder, please read with care and prioritize your well-being.

a/n: This was a request! I want to mention that I have my own struggles with food, which may have shaped the way I wrote this story. I know that everyone's experiences are unique, and we all face different challenges and thought processes. I hope this resonates with you in some way, though I understand if it's not exactly what you were looking for. Thank you for reading, and I'm sending all my love to anyone who may relate to this story in their own way.

Spencer had been so excited to cook for you. After weeks of long days at the BAU and many crazy cases, he finally had a few days off, and when he suggested making a homemade meal for the two of you, you agreed.

Part of you was excited, hoping this time would feel different. You'd convinced yourself that tonight, it'd be fine.

But now, sitting at his small dining table with the warm light casting a cozy glow over the food he'd prepared, all that optimism is slipping away.

Your stomach twists as you stare at the plate in front of you, perfectly arranged with a meal Spencer had put so much effort and love into.

You know it's probably delicious, and you wish more than anything that you could just eat it without hesitation, without feeling this gnawing discomfort.

You wish you could just smile and thank him, telling him how incredible it all smells, how delicious it looks.

In your mind, you imagine taking that first bite under his soft, expectant gaze, watching his eyes light up with quiet pride.

You'd close your eyes, savoring each flavor as it fills your mouth, and when you open them again, you'd see his delighted smile.

You'd tell him how amazing of a cook he is and how perfect tonight feels.

But instead, the words are trapped somewhere deep inside, just out of reach, and the meal sits untouched on your plate. And you couldn't even lie or pretend if you wanted to.

Spencer watches you quietly, his own plate barely touched as he picks up on your tension.

You keep your eyes on your food, not wanting to meet his, a lump forming in your throat as shame starts to bubble up.

He went through all this effort, made everything look so perfect, and here you are, unable to take a single bite.

You can't help but feel, again, that there must be something wrong with you—something that keeps you from just... eating like everyone else.

A soft sigh escapes you as you push the food around on your plate, trying to hide your reluctance.

But you know he can see it.

You hate the thought of disappointing him, of wasting the meal he prepared just for you.

So you clear your throat, plastering on a smile as you search for something—anything—to fill the silence and keep his attention off the plate in front of you.

"So... you wouldn't believe what happened on the metro today," you say, leaning forward a bit, hoping to keep his focus on you instead of the meal. "This guy—he looked like he was in a huge rush—was running down the platform, trying to make it before the doors closed. And just as he got to the edge, his phone flew out of his hand. You should've seen it, Spence, it went spinning through the air in slow motion."

Spencer's brow lifts, his eyes sparking with curiosity as he chuckles. "Did he get his phone back?"

"I actually don't know. But here's the crazy part. He didn't even notice! He was so focused on making it inside that he left his phone lying there on the platform. And people were shouting after him, trying to get his attention as the train pulled away. It was chaos."

Spencer's grin widens, completely drawn into your story. "And then?"

"Then this lady picks up his phone and just shakes her head, like she's seen this happen a hundred times before. She walks over to the nearest bench, sits down, and just waits for the next train like nothing happened."

Spencer lets out a laugh, shaking his head. "That's intense," he says.

You keep adding more details, letting the conversation flow from one story to the next, watching Spencer laugh, his smile widening as he listens.

With each laugh, the tension in your chest eases a little more, and for a few moments, you almost forget about the untouched plate in front of you.

Almost.

But then, as your story winds down, there's a brief pause. You feel his gaze shift, and when you look up, he's watching you carefully, a softness in his eyes that makes your heart clench.

"You don't have to eat it if you don't want to," he says, his words tender, free of any judgment. "I didn't make this to make you uncomfortable. I don't want you to feel pressured. I just wanted to do something nice for you."

You feel your face warm as his words sink in,

You glance down at the plate, then back up at him, trying to find the right words. "I'm sorry," you mumble, your voice barely a whisper. "I know it's silly. It's just... sometimes it's hard."

"I know it's not easy for you. I noticed."

Of course he did

"And I don't want you to feel bad about it, okay?"

"It's not that I don't appreciate it. I know it's probably really good, and you went through all this effort..."

"Hey," he interrupts, his hand reaching across the table to rest near yours, close enough that his fingers could brush yours if you needed it. "There's no need to apologize. It's okay. I'm not mad or upset okay? We don't have to make a big deal out of it. I mean it."

You exhale, feeling some of the weight ease from your shoulders, even if only slightly. You meet his eyes, seeing nothing but kindness and understanding.

"Thank you," you murmur. "It's just... hard sometimes," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's like, no matter how much I want to, I can't make it any easier on myself. I hate it all. I wish I could just eat and enjoy it like everybody else. Why is it so hard?"

Spencer listens closely, his gaze softening as he considers your words. "It's okay," he says quietly, his voice gentle.

"You know, there's a lot of research on why some people find eating more difficult or even distressing. For some, it's sensory—taste, texture, even certain smells can be overwhelming. For others, it might be about control, or even just... the way their brain is wired."

He pauses, glancing down at the table thoughtfully before continuing. "Actually, it's pretty fascinating. The way our brains process food and flavor isn't just about hunger or taste. It's tied to so many different things—sensory receptors, past experiences, even emotional responses. So, you're not alone, and it's not your fault. It's just... complicated."

You watch him as he speaks, his eyes shining with that familiar intensity he gets when he's deep in his rambling.

He smiles, his voice growing softer. "I know it's frustrating, and I can't pretend to understand exactly how it feels for you. But.. I'm here, whenever you want to talk about it—or even when you don't."

He offers a small smile and notices the glint of tears in your eyes, his hand covering yours to squeeze it lightly.

"Hey," he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "How about we just... watch a movie?"

You nod, a grateful smile spreading across your face. "I'd like that. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Everything's okay."