J.C. An unlikely love story (Thrawnxf!reader)

Take my hand

You open your eyes, thirsty like after a marathon. You rise yawning, shuffling your feet to the living room to get yourself a fresh glass of water. You turn on the lights and nearly have a heart attack. Peacefully seated at your table, in your own home, Nather is fanning himself with a satisfied grin.

"Ah! Roween, my pearl, I was waiting for you." He greets you with his charming smile.

"You are not supposed to be here..." You manage to say in a toneless voice, "You are in custody."

"Am I, now?" He tilts his head, hiding his smile with his fan. "You know I am capable of anything for you."

"... Go away." You just say with terror slowly rising in your blood.

"You are kicking me out already? Me who came to offer you something." He says feeling sorry.

"I want nothing from you."

You need to call the cops. NOW.

"Oh, but you want to see this one." He gently pushes a plate with a cloche to you. "Please open it."

You approach, trembling, but he doesn't move, just watches you with sparkly eyes. You take the handle of the cloche without leaving him with your eyes and open it.

"I hope you're hungry!" He chuckles.

You lower your gaze to the plate.

And let the cloche fall with a horrified scream.

Thrawn's decapitated, bloody head looks at you with glossy eyes.

You wake up, rising like a devil jumping out of its box, with Nather's maniacal laughter resonating in your head.

"Thrawn!" You cry.

You feel tears rolling down your cheeks as you grip the covers to ground you in reality. You turn to Thrawn's side to see it empty and cold. Again...

Where is he?

Is he okay?

You jump out of bed and pass on your nightgown swiftly, ready to run after him in the streets in your little pajamas. You're shaking of fear and worries, ready for the worst.

But the worst didn't happen.

You find Thrawn sleeping on the sofa again. You let out a sigh of relief, he's okay...

He left you again... You tried to lower the room temperature and took off covers for his comfort but he still left the bed. Him refusing to be intimate with you and refusing you his affection come flashe back in your mind.

Was he already sick?

You shake your head, you didn't take his comfort and well-being once in consideration.

You are a bad girlfriend!

Feeling the desperate need for a hug you approach him to shake him gently and immediately retract your hand.

He's boiling hot.

Looking closer he is profusely sweating and lowly moans like he is in pain. Poor Thrawn. You put your hand on his forehead. He is again way warmer than usual. You open the fridge, take out an ice pack you put on his forehead, and prepare him a hot toddy you put on the tea table next to his head.

You sit on the sofa's edge and gently caress his shoulder, still shivering. He shudders at your touch like it is painful or too much.

But you still feel the need for his presence to comfort you...

You take a plaid and wrap yourself like a burrito to limit physical contact and snuggle against him, reveling in his natural musk, inhaling it deeply through your nose, and trying to go back to sleep.