fireflysummer85

Spin-off - Mr. Reed gets sick

Mr. Reed x OC

Words: 2.994

This story follows the intense and gripping encounter between Ana, a free-spirited and adventurous young woman, and Mr. Reed, a mysterious and enigmatic older man living in isolation.

A thrilling tale of manipulation, desire, and the dark side of love, where nothing is as it seems, and the lines between control and obsession blur.

Index: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | - Spin-off: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

Days turned into weeks, and Ana found herself adapting to life in Mr. Reed’s secluded world. The storm that had once stranded her now felt like a distant memory, replaced by the steady rhythm of life within his home. The walls of his cabin, once unfamiliar, now wrapped around her like a second skin. She had never intended to stay—but something about him, about the way he looked at her as if she belonged to him, had kept her there. 

And perhaps… she wanted to belong to him. 

But then, everything changed. 

It started subtly—an unusual quietness in him, a slower pace to his movements. Mr. Reed was a man of discipline, of control, and yet Ana began noticing moments where his composure faltered. His normally sharp gaze dulled, his grip—once firm and commanding—sometimes hesitated. 

She didn’t question it at first, assuming it was exhaustion, but then, one evening, as she stood near the fireplace, she heard a muffled cough from the hallway. When she turned, she saw him bracing himself against the doorframe, his broad shoulders taut, his breaths uneven. 

“Reed?” she called, her voice lined with something she didn’t want to admit—worry. 

He didn’t answer immediately, but when he finally did, his voice was rough, strained. “I’m fine.” 

Liar. 

She crossed the room before he could stop her, pressing her palm against his forehead. His skin burned beneath her touch. A fever. 

“Dammit,” she muttered. “You’re burning up.” 

He smirked, though it was weaker than usual. “Can’t resist touching me, can you?” 

Ana narrowed her eyes. “Shut up and sit down.” 

To her surprise, he didn’t argue. That alone sent alarm bells ringing in her mind. Mr. Reed never let her order him around. 

As he sat, she kneeled before him, studying his face. His usual confidence, his overpowering presence—it was still there, but dimmed by illness. For the first time since she had met him, he looked… vulnerable. 

She didn’t like it. 

Ana watched Mr. Reed closely, her arms crossed as he sat slouched in his chair, his skin pale but burning with fever. His usual dominance, the quiet control that always surrounded him, was faltering. She could see it in the way he gripped the armrests, trying to steady himself, in the way his breath came unevenly. 

She hated seeing him like this. 

"You need medicine," she said firmly. 

His dark eyes snapped up to hers, sharp despite his exhaustion. "No." 

Ana exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Reed, you're burning up. I don’t know how bad this is, and I have no way to treat you here. I need to go into town." 

His grip tightened on the chair, his jaw clenching. "I said no." 

She stared at him, incredulous. "Why? Are you really that stubborn that you’d rather suffer than let me help you?" 

His gaze flickered, something unreadable crossing his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, rougher. "Because if you go, you might not come back." 

The words hung heavy in the air between them. Ana’s breath caught slightly. 

So that was it. It wasn’t just his usual controlling nature—he was afraid. 

Afraid she’d leave. 

Ana took a slow step toward him, searching his face. His eyes held something raw, something he usually kept hidden beneath layers of control. 

"Do you really think I’d run?" she asked quietly. 

His lips parted, as if he wanted to respond, but no words came. Instead, his fingers curled into fists against the chair, a muscle twitching in his jaw. 

"You’ve been here for weeks," he finally muttered. "But now… now that you have a reason to go, to taste freedom again—" He broke off, inhaling sharply. "What if you don’t come back?" 

Ana knelt in front of him, placing her hands on his knees, grounding him. She had never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so unlike the man who had always held power over her. 

"I am coming back," she said, voice steady. "Because I want to." 

His eyes searched hers, as if trying to find any sign of deception. Fevered or not, he was still testing her, still trying to figure her out. 

She sighed, squeezing his knee gently. "Let me take care of you, Reed." 

His gaze softened just enough for her to see the war within him—the push and pull of his need for control and the part of him that wanted to trust her. 

Finally, with clear reluctance, he exhaled. "Come back to me, Ana." 

She swallowed against the strange warmth that bloomed in her chest at those words. 

"I will," she promised. 

And for the first time, he had to let go.

Mr. Reed sat in his chair, his body burning with fever, but his mind was elsewhere. His fingers twitched against the worn armrests, his jaw clenched tight as he stared at the door Ana had disappeared through. 

She had promised to come back. 

But promises were fragile things. 

His head ached, his vision swam, but none of that compared to the gnawing anxiety clawing at his insides. He hated this—this weakness, this loss of control. He had been so careful, so calculated, weaving Ana into his world, making sure she wanted to stay. And now, she was gone. 

What if she didn't return? 

The fever made his thoughts worse, darker. He had let her go—let her step back into the world, into freedom. Would she realize what she had been missing? Would she suddenly remember the life she had before him, the one without his presence pressing in on her? 

A sharp pang of something—fear, desperation—gripped him, and he slammed his fist onto the armrest. 

No. 

She had promised. 

She belonged to him. 

And yet, for the first time since he had taken control of her, he felt powerless. 

The minutes dragged. Every sound outside made his head snap up. He imagined her walking through that door, dropping a bag of medicine on the table and rolling her eyes at him for being so dramatic. He needed that to happen. 

Because if she didn’t come back… 

If she left him for good… 

He didn’t know what he would do.

Ana carefully set down the bag of supplies, her eyes lingering on the man sprawled across the couch. Mr. Reed, always so composed, so in control, looked completely undone. His dark hair was damp with sweat, his usually sharp features softened in restless sleep. Even like this, weakened by fever, he still carried that undeniable presence—the man who never let himself falter. 

Yet, he had. 

And he had waited for her. 

A strange warmth settled in her chest at the thought. She had expected him to be tense, pacing, demanding answers the second she walked through the door. Instead, he had exhausted himself, fighting against the very thing he couldn't control—her absence. 

Ana sighed softly, shaking her head as she moved closer. She knelt beside the couch, reaching out to press the back of her hand against his forehead. Still warm, but not as bad as before. That was a relief. 

As if sensing her touch, he stirred, his lashes fluttering before his dark eyes slowly opened. For a moment, he looked disoriented, his gaze unfocused. Then, when he saw her, something shifted in his expression. 

"You came back," he murmured, his voice rough and sleep-laced. 

Ana smirked. "That surprises you?" 

His brows furrowed slightly, as if trying to gather his usual edge, but the fever still had a grip on him. "I had… doubts." 

Her smirk softened. "Then you don't know me as well as you think." 

A slow, relieved exhale left his lips, but he quickly masked it, turning his head slightly. "Did you get what I need?" 

She rolled her eyes, standing. "Yes, Reed, I got your medicine. And before you start barking orders, I also bought ingredients for soup." 

He blinked at her. "Soup?" 

Ana arched a brow. "Yes, you know—hot liquid, good for sick, brooding men who refuse to take care of themselves?" 

A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "So, you plan to nurse me back to health?" 

She scoffed. "Do I have a choice?" 

His gaze lingered on her, something unreadable flickering behind his fevered eyes. Then, quieter, more serious—more real—he said, "No. You don't." 

Ana hesitated for a second, something tightening in her chest. She swallowed, then huffed dramatically. "Good. Because I already started regretting leaving you alone for even a few hours." 

She turned toward the kitchen before he could say anything else, but she could still feel his gaze on her. 

And though she would never admit it, she liked knowing that he had waited for her. That he had needed her to come back.

As Ana moved around the kitchen, chopping vegetables and stirring the pot, she could feel his eyes on her, heavy and intense. Every step she took, every flick of her wrist, seemed to draw his gaze. It was strange—this silent, unwavering attention.

He wasn’t saying anything, but she could feel the weight of his silence. She could almost hear the unspoken questions, the hunger in his eyes. Ana took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand, though she was acutely aware of his presence just a few feet away, on a kitchen chair, his body slumped with fatigue.

When she turned to check on him, she noticed the way he was trying to prop himself up, attempting to regain some semblance of his usual composed self. But his movements were slow, sluggish, a stark contrast to the man who was always so sure of himself.

Her gaze softened just slightly, but she quickly masked it with a firmness she knew he would recognize.

"Reed," she said, her tone sharp. "You need to stop trying to play strongman. You're sick." 

He lifted his gaze to meet hers, but he didn't speak. Instead, there was a flicker of resistance in his eyes, the same defiance that had always made him so difficult to handle.

"Don’t look at me like that," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "I know what you’re thinking. You’re not fine. You’re burning up, and you need to rest." 

He opened his mouth, probably to argue, but she was already moving toward him. 

When she reached him, she placed her palm gently against his forehead, her brows furrowing as she felt the heat radiating from him. He was still too warm, far too warm for someone who had been sick for this long.

"You’re staying in bed," she ordered, her voice brokering no argument. 

His gaze shifted from her hand to her face, that familiar arrogance trying to surface, but his shoulders slumped, surrendering to the fatigue and fever that had been wearing him down. 

"Ana, I’m fine," he rasped, his voice hoarse with weakness. 

"You’re not fine," she shot back, her hands on her hips now. "So stop pretending you are." 

With a firm push, she guided him back to his bed, making sure he was lying down comfortably. He didn’t resist this time—he just let her, though the deep scowl on his face told her he wasn’t thrilled by it. 

But Ana knew him better than that. She knew when to push, and when to pull back. And right now, what he needed was for her to take charge. 

"Stay in bed," she repeated, her tone softer but no less firm. "I’ll bring you the soup once it's done. Just let me take care of you for a bit." 

She stood, watching him for a moment longer, before turning back to the kitchen.

It was almost unsettling, this sudden shift, this vulnerability in him. He’d always been the one in control—the one who never needed anyone—but now, with every glance he shot her way, it was clear that, for once, he was the one who needed. 

She liked the feeling it stirred inside of her. The feeling of power, of influence. She couldn’t deny that a small part of her loved it—loved knowing that he trusted her enough to let her take care of him, even if only for this moment. 

The soup would be ready soon enough. And when it was, she'd bring it to him—and, maybe, just maybe, she'd see if he was ready to let go of the control that had always defined him.

Ana carefully carried the steaming bowl of soup into the bedroom, her eyes scanning the room before they landed on Mr. Reed. He was propped up against the headboard, wrapped in blankets, his face still flushed with fever but noticeably calmer than before. He’d listened to her, at least for now—he was in bed, just as she had ordered, and he hadn’t tried to get up or argue.

That alone was progress. 

As she stepped closer, she could see the exhaustion etched into his features, the weariness that the fever had brought out in him. The proud man who always seemed to tower over everything, always in control, looked small and vulnerable now. His eyes met hers as she set the bowl down on the nightstand, and a flicker of something unspoken passed between them. 

He didn’t say anything at first—he didn’t need to. His gaze was enough. 

“Here,” she said, her voice gentle, almost softer than she intended. “This should help. It’s hot and it’ll make you feel better.” 

Mr. Reed watched her, his eyes flickering with a mixture of something she couldn’t quite place—admiration, perhaps, or maybe gratitude. His lips parted, and his voice came out hoarse, thick with emotion, though he tried to mask it. "Thank you, Ana." 

There was something raw in his voice. Something vulnerable. She had never heard him sound like that—so stripped of his usual bravado. She could tell the fever had made him more open, more willing to admit that he needed her in a way he wasn’t accustomed to. 

Ana hesitated for a moment before she took the seat next to the bed, her body angled toward him as she handed him the bowl. "You don't have to thank me," she said quietly. "You're my responsibility right now. I'm here to take care of you." 

His gaze softened as he reached out to take the bowl, his fingers brushing lightly against her hand. His eyes locked onto hers, and there was an intensity in them that made her pulse quicken. “I never thought I would need anyone,” he said, almost as if to himself. “But… I’m glad you’re here.” 

Ana felt a strange pang in her chest at the admission, something she hadn’t expected to feel. There was a sincerity in his words that disarmed her, making her heart flutter unexpectedly. 

The old Mr. Reed, the one who always had control, would never have said that. 

“Maybe you should let people take care of you more often,” she replied softly, trying to lighten the mood, though her voice trembled slightly with an emotion she wasn’t ready to name. 

He managed a small, tired smile, though his eyes remained serious. “I’ve been a fool.” 

Ana couldn’t help but laugh, a quiet, soft sound that seemed to relax the tension in the room. "Maybe. But you're allowed to be one every now and then." 

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the room filled with a comfortable silence. The only sound was the faint clink of the spoon as Mr. Reed began to eat the soup, and Ana’s soft breath as she watched him. 

He seemed to relax with each spoonful, the warmth of the soup doing its job, easing the tension in his muscles, the fever slowly beginning to break. Yet, even in his weakened state, he couldn’t stop his gaze from lingering on her, the quiet intensity between them unmistakable. 

“Stay with me,” he said quietly, his voice low, his eyes not leaving hers. The words were simple, but they held a weight that settled heavily in the air. "Please. I need you here, Ana." 

Ana blinked, her chest tightening at the sudden rawness of his plea. She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t expected him to ask for anything so openly. 

She looked at him, seeing the man beneath the layers of control—the man who, despite everything, was still vulnerable. And for the first time since she'd met him, she saw him not as the powerful figure she had been drawn to, but as someone who was, in this moment, human. 

“Of course,” she whispered, her voice soft but sure. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Mr. Reed’s eyes softened, a slow exhale leaving his lips as he let his head fall back against the pillows. His fingers tightened around the bowl for a brief second before he set it down and met her gaze again. “You’re… everything to me, Ana.” 

For a moment, the world outside seemed to cease to exist, the storm raging beyond the walls of the house forgotten. The only thing that mattered was the two of them, in this space, as they navigated this unexpected, fragile connection. 

Ana didn’t know what the future held—what would come after this moment of quiet intimacy. But for now, in this room, with him in this vulnerable state, she felt something deep stirring inside of her. A desire to stay. To help him heal, not just from the fever, but from whatever else he was hiding beneath his layers of control. 

She wanted to stay right where she was, beside him, and give him exactly what he needed—her care, her attention, and maybe, just maybe, a piece of herself that he had unknowingly claimed.

Feel free to leave a heart and comment if you liked this chapter and my story 🫶🏻

I'm always happy to receive some honest feedback :)

<- Previous Spin-off | Next Spin-off ->

_________________________________________

Taglist: