#thrawn x y/n | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bits-and-babs · 7 months

Text

✦ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 4: APHRODISIACS

grand admiral thrawn x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.2k words

summary: grand admiral thrawn has a unconventional way of convincing neighbouring planets to pledge allegiance to the empire.

cw: f!princess!reader, aphrodisiacs/sex pollen vibes so dub-con, fingering, cum eating, political mind games.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 5: CLOTHES ON ⇾

Perhaps others in your position would consider you a coward. The rebel alliance had pushed a revolutionary manifesto that had bled into the heart of each Empire-subjugated civilian in the galaxy, many taking up arms against the gigantic fleet of storm-trooper manned ships.

However, lacking a large military and without weaponry or manpower, your small planet lay at the mercy of the Empire leviathan. The decorative crown placed atop your head was just that— embellishment. The significance of your birthright was as vexing to Grand Admiral Thrawn as a speck of dust on his pristine white uniform. A simple brush of his palm enough to toss any resistance aside.

The hologram Thrawn sent you upon arrival to your galaxy was intended as an olive branch, one you gratefully received. A promise of clemency on the condition that you attend a dinner upon the Chimaera warship.

“Princess,” Thrawn muses as he walks you towards the vast dining table, his own body language almost regal as he directs you to your seat, “I hope you don’t mind that I took liberty with the selection of delicacies I provided.”

You had no quarrel; it was like a feast mosaic. Gorgeous, vibrant pomegranates split down the middle to expose the glistening seeds, strawberries doused in dark chocolate and shucked oysters fanned out on a plate of salt.

“I am grateful for anything you provide, Grand Admiral,” you answer him politely as he pulls out a chair for you. You sit with a small smile, attempting to appease the man that balanced your planet’s fate on the end of his trigger finger. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Thrawn’s lips pull up in a smirk, the silky timbre of his voice dripping like molasses off the edge of your spine, warming something deep in your abdomen that makes you blush.

Without ceremony, he settled in his seat across the table. Those crimson eyes pass over your frame with a gaze so heavy it’s as though you feel it dance across your skin, leaving flames in its wake.

“I recommend the oysters, your highness,” he addresses you respectfully with your title. “Freshly farmed a few hours ago.”

Upon his insistence, you began to feast. A polite silence falls between you, Thrawn’s eyes set on you as he watches you relish the flavour of the delicate oysters. He looks pleased.

You cannot deny the warmth that creeps across your skin the longer he looks at you. Thrawn's presence makes you almost dizzy, but the fear that had prickled at the base of your neck when you had been informed of his arrival had been replaced with something far more titillating.

“I must offer you my appreciation for your willingness to collaborate with the Empire, your highness, Thrawn praises you while you take a moment to sip the red wine you had been offered upon arrival. “I think you will find that I serve at your pleasure.”

“So it would seem,” you smile weakly, glancing across the table top. Pomegranate, oysters, wine. Your mind felt numb, slow to connect the thread that ran through each item— a singular quality they all shared.

“I wish to assure you of my commitment to ensuring you and your people are appropriately cared for,” Thrawn continues, elegantly standing from his seat at the head of the table and approaching where you sat like a Groundlion; a creature you knew belonged to the Chiss star system. “That our relationship continues to develop organically.”

The air around you vibrates as he approaches, your heart lurching. You had not failed to note the double meaning and slight innuendo to his comments. Flush paints your cheeks when you feel the slick wetness between your thighs, unable to look the Chiss in the eyes as he stands before you.

The Grand Admiral’s azure palm takes hold of your chin gently, tilting your head back and forcing you to look him in the eye. He’s poised, ice cold and stoic while he watches you burn up. “Don’t you agree?”

Pomegranate, wine, oysters. Pomegranate. Wine. Oysters.

Thrawn’s fingertips glide down your throat, tracing the dip of your sternum down down beneath your naval, leaving a devastating trail of arousal in the wake of his feather-light touch.

Pomegranate. Red Wine. Oysters.

Aphrodisiacs.

“Ah—“ you gasp the moment the word comes to mind, Thrawn’s fingertip brushing the curve of your sex and finding against your swollen, throbbing clit through the layers of fabric. Your eyes roll back, knuckles bleaching as he steadily and oh so easily works his hand beneath your skirts. Each motion is fluid, as easy as breathing.

“Apologies, your highness,” Thrawn spoke, his timbre even and mind-bendingly steady in comparison to your broken breaths of ecstasy. His fingers work through your folds, spreading your pussy lips and collecting your slick across his cerulean fingerprints. “I didn’t quite catch your reply.”

There’s a vague cruelty to his tone, enjoying your suffering. His eyes are glued to your expression, watching it crumple with desperation as he removes his touch from your sex raising his slick-drenched fingers to his lips and relishing in the taste when he presses the digits to his tongue.

Your chest heaves, utterly undignified with your thighs still spread in the hopes he’ll touch you again, trembling with need. Grand Admiral Thrawn’s eyes slip closed with a quiet hum of appreciation, removing his fingers from his tongue.

“Exquisite,” he husks, eyes dropping to you once more.

“Please—“ you beg him, far beyond the political ramifications and the threat of being labelled a co-conspirator.

“A princess should not beg,” he scolds you with an even tone, his hand easily working itself between your thighs once again, immediately finding your swollen clit and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. It’s tortuous, your body practically folding in on itself at the devastating arousal that causes slick to leak down your thighs. “She should command her subject. Demand their service.”

You cannot even muster a plea of mercy, rocking your hips forward to grind your clit against his knuckles. He appears to savour the way pleasure contorts your expression, your brows knitting together and jaw falling slack as you chase the high that had so suddenly threatened to burst through you like a blaster charge.

“It would appear that we are destined to have a successful working relationship, your highness,” Thrawn muses, the flat expression on his face doing little to hide the gleeful glint in his eye at just how easy it was to reduce you to a trembling wreck. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

You have no time to answer, no chance to even suck air into your lungs before your vision goes white. Pure hot plasma bursts through your abdomen, running hot and thick like the magma on Mustafar. Sobbed wails of Thrawn’s name, sans his title pour from your lips as you grasp desperately at his wrist, drawing crimson blood from his cobalt wrist when you dig your nails in.

Over the roar of the blood in your ears, rapid heart pounding in your ears as Thrawn continuous to torture your clit through the orgasm that threatens to obliterate you, you hear a twinge in the Grand admiral’s voice. Smug.

“So it would seem.”

star wars/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog1 @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @saradika @mylifeisactuallyamess

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh

213 notes · View notes

readinglistfics · 7 months

Text

i wanna sit on his lap 😫

gif by @frc-ambaradan

thrawn x f!reader smut

thrawn’s working, and you just wanna ride him a little

thrawn tries to not pay you any mind as he listens to morgan elsbeth’s reports once more, but it’s hard to focus when you keep squirming and whining on his lap. and you’ve been at it for a few minutes now, voice growing louder when you feel thrawn’s clothed cock, hard and pulsing, against your ass.

you turn back, and he doesn’t even spare you a glance, “thrawn, you’re so big,” you whine, trying desperately to rub your wetness against him, “can i take it out? please…please,” you quickly glance at the wet stain you made on his crotch, “i just want the tip. please, will you let me? thrawn?”

the look he gives you is almost teasing, giving you a small smirk as he raises an eyebrow, “if you must.”

you groan loudly as you hurriedly take him out of his uniform, the bulbous head almost swollen and dripping with precum. despite thrawn’s obvious arousal, he barely acknowledges it, eyes still focusing on the holo where he now reads some report.

you turn back to rub your ass against thrawn’s bare cock, moaning when you feel his pre smearing your cheeks. you tilt your ass higher, moaning in relief when you feel the head of his cock bump against your clit, and lower..lower…until you notch yourself on his cock.

thrawn sucks in a sharp inhale when he feels the tip of his cock inside your wet heat, but says nothing.

you, on the other hand, grip the edge of his desk as you try to keep yourself from collapsing. “oh god,” your eyes roll to the back of your head, legs shaking in pleasure as you slowly move, forward…backward…fucking yourself on the tip of his cock. you can barely take him, even with just the tip.

he hums, now watching in mild amusement (and growing pleasure) as you desperately hump his thick mushroom head, your asscheeks bouncing in time with your moans. you’re close, he can feel it, as you squeeze around him involuntarily, your whining growing louder, the juices of your cunt now streaming down the length of his cock and drenching his balls. and thrawn could cum just like this. he could just let you fuck yourself into orgasm. but you know better.

your ears are ringing so much as you work yourself to orgasm, not even noticing that thrawn has turned off the holo, nor did you feel his arm wrapping against your middle. you only starting to notice it when—

“ah!”

thrawn pulls you close to him, arm around you as he pulls you down his cock so that he’s balls deep in your cunt. your squeal was followed by a grunt from him, rasping against your ear as he humps you once, twice, and—

“fuck, thrawn, i’m cumming!”

and you go boneless against him as you cum, limbs shaking as you jerk against him, drenching his cock in your juices.

thrawn’s lips curls slightly as he guides your hips to pull your cunt away from his cock, only to pull you back in until he’s all the way in. he makes sure he’s all snug inside as he feels his balls tightening.

“i’m gonna cum,” he whispers, and thrawn quietly groans as he empties his cum inside you.

barely half-conscious, you turn to watch him, a shadow of a smile on his face as he rides his orgasm. “fuck,” you exclaim, feeling his cum shoot from the tip of his cock to flood your walls, some already leaking out and dripping down to his balls and to the carpeted floor, “fuck you came a lot.”

he opens his eyes to look at you, eyes red and blown with lust, “i have more.”

this is how i sleep at night after flicking it to thrawn (ive become a full blown degenerate who would 100% fuck the old man)

#thrawn #star wars #ahsoka #grand admiral thrawn #didnt mean to moan that loud my bad #lars mikkelsen #star wars rebels #thrawn x reader #thrawn x oc #thrawn imagine #thrawn smut #thrawn x you #star wars imagine #mitth'raw'nuruodo #thrawn x y/n

148 notes · View notes

al-astakbar · 10 months

Text

☆ Fair Winds and Following Seas -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ Fair Winds and Following Seas

> summary ☆ In a loosely-controlled experiment, Grand Admiral Thrawn decides to dose you with a powerful aphrodisiac and makes you go about your day as usual. This is a direct follow up to Good and Faithful Service, I suggest reading that first.

> pairing ☆ Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [6.9k] ☆ warnings ☆ aphrodisiacs; mildly dubious consent; masturbation; cunnilingus; Thrawn eats ass (very brief); PIV sex; power dynamics & imbalance; fraternization; angsty at the end

> posted on ao3 ☆

You can’t have expected anything to change with you and Thrawn. Not really. It had been one night. You had offered your help before he had ordered you to give it. Even when he’d had you on your back, even with his cock in your mouth, neither of you had put aside your ranks. You were still ‘Lieutenant’, and he was still the Grand Admiral. He was still Sir.

Except now you keep slipping. Months on, you find yourself unable to focus on much of anything. Distracted in meetings, forgetting things, neglecting the most basic military decorum.

The Grand Admiral is perhaps more lenient than most senior officers, but he is only forgiving to a point.

So when he comms you an hour earlier than normal one morning, you’re nervous. It could be a reprimand. It could be some worse, harsher punishment. He could be planning to dismiss you, have you reassigned. Between dismissal and punishment, you feel crazy for hoping it’s the latter. The thought of having to leave him, the thought that he has no use for you anymore… you mentally shake yourself. Totally inappropriate way for a junior officer to feel about her commander. You’re his aide, nothing more, nothing less.

You quickly change out of your pt clothes into the uniform of the day, and hurry up to his office, which is a couple decks above your stateroom. You press the chime to let him know you’re outside, and then he remotely keys the hatch to open for you.

Inside, his office is almost pitch black.

“Enter.” His voice calls from somewhere in the dark. You can’t pinpoint it.

You step inside, and the hatch zips shut behind you.

“Good morning, sir. Lieutenant--” you stumble over your own name, just barely managing not to yelp in surprise when you suddenly see a pair of glowing red eyes open, just a few feet away from you “-- reporting as ordered.”

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he says smoothly. He brings up the lights without offering any comment on why he’d had them off in the first place. Strange. He hadn’t said anything about the incident with the Nevow. Not one thing. At first you’d figured he was determined to act like everything was normal, just pretend it hadn’t happened. But just as you’ve been slipping, he’s had some odd moments as well.

He gestures to the seating area where he usually entertains senior staff or high ranking visitors. There is an elegant silver caf service laid out on the low table.

You gratefully accept the cup of caf he pours and then passes to you. You sit awkwardly, perched on the edge of the chair with rigid posture, while he sits back, regarding you thoughtfully.

“Thank you for coming early. Did I interrupt your morning exercise?”

“Uh… of course, sir. And I had been just about to start. You know, unit pt down in the aft shuttle maintenance bay.” You gulp down your caf, noticing that it’s making you feel quite warm, especially in the usual chill of his office. “You started a droid-sparring trend, sir. I don’t know if you knew that.” With any other officer, this would be much too familiar. Too friendly.

The Grand Admiral just says, “indeed?”

“Yes, sir.” You finish your cup, and he pours you a second. “Thank you,” you murmur.

He sips his own, watching you with a strange glint in his eyes. Not unlike the way he had looked at you all those months ago in that hot, confined room. Your face heats at the memory, and you drink again to cover your blush.

Not for the first time, you wonder if you should be the one to request a transfer. You can’t control yourself around him. Even now, just sitting here having caf, and you’re getting turned on just from the way he looks at you. Suddenly your collar feels too tight. The temperature of his office, so cold you normally have to clench your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering-- too warm. Some time ago, you had finally given in to your fantasies, and allowed yourself to imagine him while you masturbate. It had felt so, so wrong, a violation of his trust in you, a violation of your relationship as junior and senior officers. But it hadn’t stopped you. And it isn’t the same as the real thing. You stare down at your cup, thankful that, perceptive as he is, he can’t actually read your mind.

“Lieutenant?”

You look up. “Yes, sir?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod quickly, blushing even harder.

You’re sure he can tell that you’re lying, but he doesn’t remark on it. He lets you fidget for a moment, and then changes topic.

“Today, you will help me conduct an experiment.”

You sit up straighter, reaching for your datapad to take notes, but he stops you.

“That will not be necessary. You will be the subject, and I will… observe you.”

That was intentional. That suggestive twist he put on the phrase, the way his voice went low and soft, like he knew how it would send a shiver of arousal up your spine. You swallow hard. “Of course, I’ll do whatever is required of me, sir.”

Grand Admiral Thrawn almost smiles. You both know his authority over you begins and ends with military matters, and you’re pretty sure whatever this is falls well outside of those boundaries. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Now, allow me to explain. I have put some of the galvi root in the caf you just drank. I had to guess at the dosage, but am I correct that it has already begun to take effect?”

You nod tightly, head spinning at this revelation, though in hindsight you should have expected something like this from him.

“I see… it has affected you more quickly, then.”

“Are you-- are you sure?” At his slight frown, you continue quickly. “I think you may not have noticed it right away because you had the distraction of the ceremony. Sir.”

The Grand Admiral leans back, tapping the arm of his chair. “Yes. Yes, I believe you are right.” He pauses, and gives you an appraising look that makes you squirm.

“You could have asked me!” You finally say, a little testy.

“And you would have agreed to it, would you not?”

You nod again, flustered at how easily he can read you. As to why you would agree to it so readily— you’d rather not risk exposing your embarrassing crush on him by arguing the point.

“Therefore my asking beforehand would be unnecessary.”

You very nearly glare at him. Not like it would be the first line crossed today in terms of what’s acceptable between a junior and senior officer. Instead, you say, “I hadn’t factored in the time for this in today’s schedule, sir. If you need me to--”

“Not to worry, Lieutenant. You will accompany me for the entire day. I have arranged for your colleagues to cover your other responsibilities. As part of the experiment, we need to test how well you are able to perform your daily routine, or at least an approximation of it.”

You aren’t sure how to argue about this, if you even should, because the idea of it seems ridiculous. After all, he had been totally incapacitated by the drug within two hours and now he expects you to just go about your day. Will you be allowed any privacy? Will you be allowed relief?

He seems to be contemplating the same questions. What he says next makes you bite back a gasp and you nearly drop your cup. “Recall: you sucked my cock and I came in your mouth.”

This is the first time since that he’s directly acknowledged it, and he says it so calmly but the shock of hearing those words in his cool, modulated voice sends a visceral pulse of desire through your body. You shift, trying to hold yourself still. Can’t keep your hands from shaking. With a rattling clink, you put your cup and saucer on the table.

At that, Thrawn continues, “-- but the effects of the drug were not lessened. It was alleviated, very briefly, but then only grew stronger. It was the same when I masturbated. That is what we will test today. And your ability to withstand it.”

You have no idea what to say, other than a weak ‘yes, sir.’

For a few more minutes, the two of you sit quietly. Thrawn finishes his caf and you think on what he’s just said. Recall, was his order. How can you not? You’ve thought about it every day for months. How he had tasted, how he’d fucked you. How he had sounded when he’d come that last time, a low, almost feral growl as he’d pushed deep inside of you.

Then he checks his chrono, and it’s time to go. Nearly 0700. He’ll be expected on the bridge for the morning report.

He stands, and at the last second, you remember to do the same. Not a good sign. Protocol dictates you stand at attention whenever the commanding officer enters or leaves the room. The Grand Admiral is usually rather lax about such niceties, but if you let the little things slide, it’s only a matter of time before you make a mistake that he would deem significant.

You follow Grand Admiral Thrawn to the first task of the morning, the familiar route through the passageways up to the bridge feeling much longer than normal. This is fine, you try to reassure yourself. You do this with him every day. And it’s possible the aphrodisiac doesn’t even affect humans the way it had affected him. After all, your hosts all those months ago could have dosed you, too, but didn’t. Maybe they had known it wouldn’t really work. But-- no.

You’re here, now, at his elbow on the command walkway, already failing your duties. You’re supposed to be paying attention, and taking any notes he might need. Instead, you’re sweating. You can feel a trickle of it down your back, and where it’s beading in your hairline.

Commodore Faro grimaces at you, and makes some comment about droid-sparring for pt getting out of control. You apologize to her, a hurried ‘sorry, ma’am’, and then excuse yourself because the Grand Admiral has made that vague gesture with his hand that means he has something for you to do.

But all he wants is for you to come stand by his side. Throughout the morning and the rest of the day, he insists on keeping you close, and the proximity only makes your desire flare hotter. The way he smells, and his tall, broad-shouldered frame, and the way his arm sometimes brushes against yours. His long-fingered hands, which, though he’s wearing his white gloves right now, you can still picture so clearly, blue against your skin.

You take your seat at his right hand in the morning meeting, only to fidget and shift the whole time. Every so often, he gives you the side eye, so you will yourself to stop, to be still, control yourself.

He leans over, commenting quietly for only you to hear, that your core temperature is elevated. His voice maddeningly calm as always. Raising one eyebrow at you, almost a challenge. Ask for what you need, Lieutenant.

You need him. You need his cock, you need to feel him again, don’t give a damn if it’s fraternization and every other officer in the room would see your life ruined-- both you and Thrawn-- if they knew you’re even having these thoughts. You need him to bend you over the conference table and fuck you until you can’t walk.

At last, he stands, dismissing everyone from the meeting. Except you. You check your chrono, and it takes you a moment to read it. You feel delirious, every sense flooded with overwhelming arousal. Every nerve charged.

“Forty-five minutes, Lieutenant.” The Grand Admiral’s cool, soft voice washes over you. You have to close your eyes against it. Against what it does to your fraying self control. Officers of the Galactic Imperial Navy do not think about dropping to their knees and begging their commander to make them cum.

“Until? Sir?” You only get the formality in as a force of habit.

“Since.”

Your eyes snap to his. “Since?”

He tilts his head, studying you. His gaze sweeps down your body, his lips part slightly. There’s that hunger you had seen before, when he had been the one whose desires were laid bare by the drug. “Since you took the dose.”

Your heart drops. “That’s it?!” You blurt out, and he raises an eyebrow at your unprofessionalism. “Sorry, sir. I…” You hesitate, “I’m just going to the ‘fresher real quick before our next meeting.”

“No.”

You freeze in your tracks. “Sir?”

“I have not excused you, Lieutenant. And I assume your purpose in going is to be able to masturbate in private?”

You stare at him, mortified, and unable to answer.

He tilts his head slightly. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“I have never seen a human produce so much facial heat before.”

You huff, and close your eyes briefly. “Sir, I… I can’t do this. Could I just be excused for the day until it wears off? I’ll just tell Medical I ate something weird that I bought at the last port call.”

“Perhaps you misunderstand, Lieutenant. I am permitting you to masturbate. But you will do it here.”

It clicks in your mind. Observe.

You lick your lips, and meet his eyes once more for confirmation. He lets his gaze sweep down and back up, positively indecent. It makes your pulse spike, knowing that he’s thinking about you like that.

Too fast, too eager, you pull up your tunic, unbuckle your belt and shove your pants down just enough.

“More,” Thrawn orders. He points rather lazily to your legs, and how they aren’t spread wide enough for him to see much. You obey, and then fall back into the chair, bare from hips to ankles. Thrawn is close. He stands right in front of you, regarding you with imperious authority.

The effect of the drug is powerful enough to dampen some of your embarrassment, but you are still sitting here, legs spread wide for your commanding officer. Anyone could walk in.

“Do you need more specific directions, Lieutenant?” He asks dryly.

“No, sir.” You reach your hand down and find you’re already slick and wanting. Wet enough to be fucked, your mind supplies unhelpfully, but you know he won’t give that to you. You start circling your clit, can’t stop yourself from whimpering in relief. Plunge one finger in, but it’s not enough, so you work in a second. It feels good, so good. The drug has its claws in you now, some primal force coaxing you faster, faster -- if you can just take the edge off. None of it is enough. You rub your clit, and push your fingers in as deep as you can, curling them to that perfect spot. Your climax is almost too easy to find, right there within reach--

“Look at me.”

Your eyes fly open. Your breath hitches --“y-yes. Yes, sir,” -- and you’re coming, hard and fast. You can feel your inner walls fluttering around your fingers, and you chase the feeling as long as you can, touching a bright, fleeting pleasure that has you moaning wantonly.

But the drug steals away any true satisfaction. Makes it shallow, and over too soon, and leaves a tight, twisting need in your core, verging on pain.

“Did it help?” He echoes your question from months ago, but you both already know the answer.

It made it worse. You shake your head and quickly make yourself decent. You’re about to wipe your hands on your trousers when he catches your wrist-- the hand that you’d fucked yourself with-- and licks one of your fingers. Then he sucks both of them fully in his mouth with a sinful hmm. As if he’s been waiting for his chance to taste you.

You give a shuddering whimper. Again, you have to close your eyes against the sight of him, against the feeling of his mouth and tongue. Against everything.

When he’s done, he wipes your face and hands with a handkerchief. He gives you a once-over, and straightens your rank plaque himself. Once you’re deemed presentable, he leads the way to the next meeting.

He keeps finding little ways to touch you, and you’re sure it’s on purpose. Even his hand on your shoulder makes you have to refocus your self control, exhale as the warmth of his touch makes you ache with need. After the Ops brief, he leans in close and picks a possibly nonexistent piece of lint off your tunic.

By 0930, he hasn’t allowed you to masturbate again, and you’re a wreck. “Sir…” you sway on your feet, distantly pondering the consequences if you were to simply disobey him, and sneak off to a ‘fresher. Or you could jump a random officer, get him to fuck the drug out of you for a few hours. Or… you gaze at Thrawn, not bothering to try to conceal your lust…

He regards you dispassionately.

“Sir, please…”

“Would you ever have asked me for it, Lieutenant?” His authority, his very presence seems to fill the now-empty executive conference room. “I’ve been wondering if you would. I did promise you a dose. You never added the time for it to my schedule.”

You swallow hard, not quite trusting yourself to speak coherently. “You already have so much on your plate, sir. I didn’t want to overburden you.” You know it sounds like a lame excuse.

Evidently, he thinks so too. “I see.” He brushes a strand of hair off your face, tucks it behind your ear.

You shiver at the contact, at how cool his hand feels next to your burning skin.

It’s gone all too soon. He turns away and you dutifully follow along, wondering if your lie had just cost you a chance at relief.

You endure another couple hours or so-- you only know the time because Thrawn keeps reminding you. But as the minutes tick by you feel more and more delirious, and occasional spasms of pain start to wrack your body. Somehow you manage to stay on your feet, standing at his elbow as he conducts a walkthrough inspection of the ship’s TIE Defender maintenance shop. After that, you accompany him for a brief break in the senior officers’ mess, and have to watch him as he calmly sips his caf while you squirm in the seat next to him. He makes conversation with a few other officers, but you can’t focus on anything they’re saying. Every thought you have is of him. Every impulse, the heat between your thighs, urging you, screaming at you to throw yourself at him, to bend over so he can mount you, or better yet you could ride him. Straddle him, brace your hands on his chest, feel his powerful, long legs flexing as he pumps up into you.

He glances over at you just once, and raises his eyebrow, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

The next meeting, you get through by white-knuckling the conference table and crossing your legs very tightly. Desire burns in you like a fever, narrows your awareness to just your body and the undeniable, agonizing need the drug has stoked in you.

You stand at attention with everyone else when Thrawn gets up and dismisses the meeting. And once again, you’re alone with him.

He fixes you with a dangerous look, a curious gleam in his glowing red eyes. He seems almost… entertained.

“Sir, please, I… I need to…” You shouldn’t speak first, typically. Junior officers don’t talk this way to their betters, but nothing about this is typical.

“Truly remarkable,” Thrawn says softly. “The power of this drug, and your resistance to it. You’ve done very well so far, but I fear it may harm you.”

He begins pulling his right glove off, finger by finger. Your pulse jumps in your chest. “Take off your boots.”

You barely pause to question it, though worry rattles in the back of your mind. What if someone comes in? Won’t there be another meeting in here soon? Thrawn isn’t worried. Perhaps doesn’t care.

He approaches, backing you up to the large conference table. When you come up on the edge of it, he lifts you by your waist and sits you up on it. With swift, deft movements, he undoes your belt and strips you of your trousers. He slots himself between your bare legs and you hear yourself panting. Pushing your hips closer to him, needing to rut and grind. Without asking, you reach a hand down, eager to touch your clit. He stops you, catches your wrist and you actually whine with disappointment.

He ignores this, looking down at you contemplatively, and it registers then, just how close you are, how you’d dreamed of this for months and now you’re close enough to kiss him. “Please,” you try again. “I did it for you.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But this is an experiment, not an exchange of favors.”

And with a fluid, graceful motion he gets on his knees and buries his face in your soaking pussy.

His lips immediately find the bud of your clit in a lewd, wet, open-mouthed kiss. A shuddering, throaty cry tears from your lips, and Thrawn only pauses to warn you to mind your screams. Someone could hear. At this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. You both know the consequences were someone to walk in and see the Grand Admiral with his face between your legs. But he doesn’t take risks unless he’s confident in the odds. Or he’s just decided it’s worth it.

He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. You can feel the cold metal of his epaulet digging into your skin. The change in position opens you to him. You fix the image in your mind, of Thrawn there between your legs. The contrast of his blue skin against yours, the alien ridges of his forehead, his lips and tongue lapping at your pussy like he’s never tasted anything better, his red eyes locked on you.

Without thinking, you put your hand on his head, stroking your fingers through his sleek, dark hair. Too intimate. Again, he catches your wrist, moves it away.

“Sorry,” you say. He doesn’t answer. He wraps his arm around your thigh, yanking you closer to his mouth, and then pushes one finger into you. More. The drug wants more. He works a second in easily and lets you ride them for a moment before pinning your hips down.

“Please fuck me.” You don’t care how desperate you sound. You’re already close, oversensitized from the drug and the hours of torturous denial.

“Not yet.”

“Why not? When?”

His eyes meet yours. “Questioning a superior officer?” He pauses, with a deliberate, slow lick of his tongue right over your clit. You nearly cry.

“Lieutenant?” He prompts you.

“N-no sir.” Your voice is breathy, broken. You can feel pleasure starting to roll over you in waves, your body responsive to every little touch.

He takes pity on you. Doesn’t tease or hold back or draw it out, at least not any more than he already has. Perhaps his way of saying thank you for what you did for him. Because you know him, as much as anyone can know Thrawn, and you know better than to expect to hear it.

The drug steals any more coherent thought, but Thrawn claims your pleasure. He is relentless, drinking it down, alternately suckling your clit and lapping at your folds with the broad flat of his tongue, his fingers reaching the perfect spot that yours couldn’t, that you haven’t been able to satisfy for months. He curls his fingers, and you’re gone, dissolving like sugar in his mouth. He lets you ride his face, keeps fucking his fingers into you as you moan and twitch, and squeeze your thighs around his ears. Again, the drug makes your release blaze bright and fast, but ultimately leaves you wanting.

At last, you sag backwards, legs wide, a wanton, debauched picture. Your tunic hangs open, and for a quiet moment you lie flat on the conference table where just minutes ago the Chimaera’s senior officers had gathered. Thrawn rises effortlessly, and when he does, you see his complexion is tinged indigo, and there is an obvious bulge in his trousers.

He’s watching you, taking in the sight of what he’s done, and you spread your legs wider. He licks his lips, eyes blazing.

“Now?” You ask hopefully.

His expression hardens, and he orders you to get dressed. He has to wipe off his mouth and chin, which are shiny with your arousal. Then, it’s back to the day’s schedule.

At least six more times, Thrawn decides to let you come, before you start to lose track completely. Rather than depriving you, he overloads you, flooding you with stimulation at every opportunity. He pulls you into a disused office, sits you up on the desk, and eats you out again. It shocks you each time he gets on his knees for you. He’ll smudge his white uniform and then everyone will know, they’ll see you together and know, Grand Admiral Thrawn is fucking his Lieutenant.

Following obediently after him from one part of the ship to another, you can feel how wet you are, your constant arousal dripping down your legs, you can feel your pussy slick as you walk. After the evening Intel brief, he backs you into a dark corner in a passageway, slips his hand down your pants and permits you to come on his fingers. There isn’t even the assurance of a hatch between the two of you and anyone who could come along, and yet you thrust and grind shamelessly against his hand, unable to keep quiet. He almost smiles when he tells you, really, Lieutenant, I expect you to at least attempt to control yourself. He kisses you, sealing his mouth over yours, swallowing down your keening cries. The one thought you can grasp, through the haze of lust, is that he’s achingly hard, pressing his erection against your hip as if he’s just barely holding back from touching himself.

Each climax tightens the drug’s feverish hold over you, and by the evening you can hardly stand for the desire boiling in your veins. Your uniform is a mess, rumpled and with an odd stain you hope is caf but you can’t remember how it happened. You imagine your face must be worse. Thrawn again straightens your rank plaque, and makes sure your cover isn’t askew.

His nearness makes you tremble.

He leads you back to the bridge once more for the evening report, and finally-- your heart leaps when you recognize the familiar path-- to his quarters.

The room is cold. Always cold, the way he likes it. You have wondered often what his home planet is like. Freezing, you assume. Somewhere icy and hospitable only to his people. You’ve wondered why he would ever leave it, when he so clearly doesn’t fit in here. The Empire has an ideal, and as brilliant as he is, Thrawn is not it.

He leaves you standing there in the center of his art collection, and dims the lights.

You wait for him as attentively as you can, though you’re shivering, standing at a tense parade rest.

After a stretch of silence he speaks. “Could you say ‘no’ right now, Lieutenant?” His voice is silky. His eyes seem to glow brighter in the dark. The sudden question puts you off balance.

“It-- it would depend on what’s being asked. Sir.”

“Imagine I were not your commanding officer, but a stranger. Or an enemy. And at this very moment, I am promising you relief from the effects of the drug, in exchange for classified information.” He circles behind you, and you turn to look at him but he stops you. “Eyes forward.”

Your pulse jumps, and you stand straighter at the command. A reminder of your rank, of your position, and Thrawn’s. “I would never do anything to compromise the Empire.” But your voice is too breathy to be convincing, and Thrawn steps closer, pressing himself against your back.

“But I’m offering.”

You make an inarticulate, desperate sound.

“Do you think you’d be able to refuse…?” He uses your given name, knowing exactly the effect it will have on you. The drug makes you dangerously suggestible.

“I would--” You understand his point. But there’s only one way to answer. “Yes, I would uphold my duty.”

“Your resolve is admirable. But I do not appreciate lies. Especially when they are so obvious.” He crowds you forward, so your hips hit the edge of his desk. The desk you’ve stood next to many times, attending to the Grand Admiral and whatever he asks of you. He puts a palm between your shoulders and forces you down face-first. His tone goes cold. “So I will allow you one more chance to answer. If I were anyone else, would you be able to control yourself?”

The only saving grace allowing you to reply at all is being able to hide your face in the crook of your arm, and not look him in the eye. “If it had been anyone else trapped in that room, I wouldn’t have offered in the first place.”

He stills. “I see.” Quietly, deliberately, he strips you of your service belt and your boots, pulls your trousers down to your calves. You whine in anticipation, shaking with need. It’s an effort not to lean in to every little touch.

You watch, fascinated, the scene in the dark, shadowy reflection of the transparisteel viewport. Behind you, Thrawn going to his knees. His hands opening your body to his inspection. Then, with no warning, his mouth is on your cunt again. His tongue licking hot and wet up your slit, one broad stroke, higher, no hesitation as his thumbs dig in to your flesh, holding you open and then he swirls his tongue around your asshole.

"Thrawn!" you squeal in surprise and embarrassment, completely forgetting his rank.

“Hmm.” He says. “You don’t like it?”

“I… ah…” You’re drooling on his desk. Like and dislike are beyond understanding. There is only need. You raise your hips, seeking contact. He gives it to you. He licks your hole again, flicking his tongue over and over until you’re panting, before he places his fingers there. He massages them gently around the sensitive, puckered skin, teasing you with penetration but never quite going in. You moan when you feel his tongue drag over your clit, reaching for the exquisite, building pressure, enslaved to the whims of the drug.

A day-- months’ of pent up need swells all at once and begins to overflow. Distantly, you hear yourself wail, feel yourself rocking against his face, no concept of anything except this sweet relief and him, between your legs, bestowing it upon you. At last, he pushes one finger in, and closes his lips around your clit, sucking slowly in time with your pulse, not stopping even as your legs shake. Your mind goes completely, divinely blank as pleasure sweeps over you, drowns everything else, wave after wave after wave…

It is a very different position in which you awaken, you don’t know how much later. You’re warm and cozy cocooned blankets, totally naked, in a stateroom you don’t recognize. It’s much bigger than yours.

Thrawn. You sit up with a jolt. It has to be his room. His bed. Turning, you bury your face in the pillow. It smells like him, though not strongly.

The galvi root has worn off. You only feel exhaustion, and uncertainty. Here, in Thrawn’s quarters, in his bed, a decision solidifies in your mind. You know what you have to ask him. Across the room, you see your uniform, neatly folded on an armchair. You ignore it. You lie back down, pulling his scent around you, and stay like that for a time, gazing out the viewport at the dark field of stars.

When you’re nearly asleep again, the hatch opens. Thrawn. You don’t know how to act around him anymore, which military courtesies to show him, but the idea of jumping out of his bed, naked, and coming to attention seems ridiculous.

“Did you get the data you needed?” Insofar as what you did today could be called an experiment, and a flawed one at that.

“I did.” He glances at your folded uniform on the chair, and comes around to stand at the side of the bed, his back to the viewport.

So many times you had dreamed of getting closer, of Thrawn letting you in. And now you’re going to distance yourself. “Sir, there’s something I need to--”

“I’m recommending you for promotion.” His tone is cold, his posture stiff and formal. Very much the Grand Admiral, and nothing of the man beneath, the glimpses you’d caught of sly humor, of tenderness, of want as strong as yours, kept under rigid control.

You sit up, blood rushing to your ears. He holds up a hand, and you fall silent.

“To Commander. You’ll serve as First Officer aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Carnage.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to speak. Jumping ranks was almost unheard of-- Thrawn had done it, of course, multiple times, but your service record in the Imperial Navy is nothing like his. And First Officer aboard a Star Destroyer-- people worked their whole career to earn a position like that and he’s just handing it to you. “I’m not… that’s…”

“If you are going to protest that you’re not qualified, I’ll remind you that you have spent the better part of three years aboard this ship, serving by my side. You know the requirements and duties of an admiral and a Star Destroyer better than most, so you will be well-equipped to excel in the role of First Officer. As long as we are not in combat, you could probably run the ship in my absence. Or Commodore Faro’s, for that matter. I have complete faith in you.”

“Are you recommending me because of this? Because I slept with you?” You wince. It sounds so sordid and cliche. It wouldn’t be the first time ranks and promotions and choice assignments had been exchanged for favors.

He looks mildly surprised, as if it’s a question he hadn’t anticipated. “No. I already put in the recommendation a few weeks ago. It has nothing to do with our…” he pauses, showing rare discomfort “...association.”

You look down at your lap for a moment, chewing your lip, unsure what to say. A great emotion swells in your chest. You have to swallow it down. You aren’t sure whether it’s better that you didn’t have to ask for a transfer. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“The drug’s gone,” you tell him, as if he doesn’t know that. “I feel better now.”

He fixes you with a piercing stare. He is dark in silhouette in the unlit room, with only the starscape behind him.

You don’t want to leave. You don’t want to have some of your last experiences with the Grand Admiral tainted by something beyond your control. Feeling brazen and reckless, you let the covers fall, leaving your breasts exposed in the cold air. You look up at him, and lean back against his pillows, as leisurely as you please. His eyes flash and the air in the room seems to have gone very still. Have you angered him? Of all the lines crossed today, and the time before, was this the one too far? Is this a mistake?

You throw the covers back, and don’t miss the way his hand open-flexes and then closes into a tight fist. You slide out of bed, to your feet, standing in front of him. Close. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t even move. He is tempted, you think, but hiding it well. He’s thought about this, like you have, but never imagined giving in to it.

Heart pounding, fully expecting that he’ll catch your wrists again, you reach for his belt. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t stop you. You pop the catch, and let it fall into your hands before tossing it on the bed. His collar clasps next. These take a moment. You get them undone, but it’s always harder on someone else. Finally the sealing strip of his tunic. You peel it back, he slips his arms out, and you fold the white fabric carefully.

He lets you undress him. One final act of service under the intensity of his gaze. He seems to understand that you like tending to him. That it means something to you. He sits so you can pull off his boots. You unfasten his trousers and pull them down, listening to the sound of the fabric and his breathing in the dark.

Your body thrums with arousal, so potent it’s making your hands shake, every brush of your skin against Thrawn’s electric-charged with the knowledge that you’re choosing this and so is he.

Then he’s finally bare, completely, and gathering you in his arms.

His lips hover over yours, he whispers your name and then he kisses you, sweet and soft and you feel like you’re falling. You moan into his mouth and he pulls you closer, answering your need. The momentum of it carries you down to his bed together and you wonder distantly how often he even uses it. More times than you can count, you’ve come into his office to find him asleep at his desk. Something in your heart aches for him, a feeling so fragile and incomprehensible, you shove it far, far down, almost enough to extinguish it.

The quiet makes your touches measured and slow. Not wanting to rush anything. Not wanting to betray that you’re suddenly nervous, without the structure and expectations of rank between you. The Grand Admiral. That’s all you’ve ever known Thrawn as, and now he’s kissing your neck, leaving a bruise high enough that your collar won’t cover it.

You gasp his name, and he huffs a quiet laugh, as if he’s been caught at mischief. He kisses lower, your breastbone, covering your breasts in his hands, his fingers plucking at tightened nipples.

He watches you closely, riveted, pinning you with the same intense focus you’ve seen when he’s studying a piece of art, or commanding the Chimaera in battle. Except now you’re at the center of it, arching to his touch, so turned on you can hardly breathe, you want him so badly.

You can feel his cock achingly hard against your stomach, he’s rolling his hips, so you lift to him. He’s shaking as he enters you. He braces himself on his forearms and rocks in slowly, inch by inch. You whimper at the stretch, at how kriffing good his cock feels filling you up.

He chases your mouth, like he can’t kiss you enough, swallowing down each tender little sound you make. You can almost taste when his resolve begins to slip. You’re so slick and hot around him and this is the last time and anything after this doesn’t matter.

He fucks you deep and steady, grinding his hips and you move with him. He takes in the sight of you beneath him, something to keep for later; the light sheen of sweat, tendons going tight in your neck and you start to moan at every thrust. Both of you holding back, trying and failing to draw it out, all the tightly-held control swept away. Thrawn presses forward, hard, his thick length splitting you open over and over.

Clinging to him with a longing cry, you come, pulsing and tight, riding the pleasure as long as you can, not wanting it to end. And Thrawn is there with you. He’s trembling, his abdomen tense with the climax building in his body, just driving in until he comes with a harsh moan, burying his face against your neck.

Two weeks later, you’re wearing the rank plaque of a Commander of the Imperial Navy, and things are going relatively smoothly aboard the ISD Carnage. Thrawn had not attended your promotion ceremony, nor had you asked him. You’d only been his aide, after all, and it would have looked strange for a Grand Admiral to show up for a subordinate so far beneath his rank.

You wish he would’ve been there to pin the new rank on your chest. It would have been easier, at least, with him there, instead of being by yourself to weather the suspicious, jealous glares of other officers who were wondering what exactly you’d done to get the promotion. But you’ve assumed the post of First Officer aboard the Carnage all the same, and now you try not to think about him too much.

You check your terminal one morning, and find, among the frankly disgusting number of messages you get every day, one from [GADM THRAWN] with the subject [PROPOSAL (OPTIONAL)].

You can’t click it open fast enough.

Commander,

I hope you are settling into your new assignment comfortably.

The Chimaera is scheduled for a port call at Brentaal IV at the same time as the Carnage will be granted shore leave on the neighboring Chandrila. I propose a meeting to continue experimentation with the galvi root extract. Specifically, it would be beneficial to run additional controls without the drug. If you are amenable, contact me on my private frequency--

You still know the one. Know it by heart. You can’t help smiling to yourself.

--and we will discuss logistics.

V/R

Grand Admiral Thrawn

ISD Chimaera, 7th Fleet

//end.

☆ tag list ☆ join ☆

@crosshairs-wife @vibratingbonesbis @thrawns-teef-weef @debonaire-princess

Also tagging a few others who had expressed interest in a part 2 :)

@annoyinglylegendarygoose @erusanya @courier-jackalope

#thrawn #thrawn x reader #thrawn fic #thrawn fanfiction #thrawn x you #thrawn x y/n #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo

188 notes · View notes

cambion-companion · 6 months

Text

Thrawn as a Father

I thought I would write a small drabble into an evening I pictured last night while freezing in bed without a Chiss husband to warm me up. Very sad. Thrawn would be the best dad, and make that a girl dad and it's a done deal.

You snuggled down under the thick covers, the warmth enveloping your frigid body.

Thrawn flinched slightly as your ice-block feet pressed against his bare leg. “My heart, I worry about your blood circulation.”

“I can think of ways to improve it.” You smiled, closing your eyes and wrapping your arm around his waist, resting against his warm chest.

You breathed deeply, relaxing as the troubles of the day melted off your shoulders.

Thrawn chuckled, bouncing your head enough for you to squint your eyes open and join him in the moment of mirth. He gave you a squeeze. “Of that I am certain.”

You tilted your head to see his face, his red eyes glowing faintly in the semi-dark bedroom. Such an effect had unnerved you during the early days of knowing him, yet now they held a calming power.

The bedroom door swung open a slightly, the timid voice of your small daughter speaking from below your eyeline. “Mama? I had a bad dream.”

You made a sympathetic noise and slid quickly off the bed to take your little darling into your arms. She hugged you tightly around your neck and reach with her little hands towards where Thrawn was sitting up in bed. You could feel her body trembling.

“All is well, my little warrior.” Thrawn gladly took his daughter from you and helped her snuggle against his side. He glanced up as you got back into bed and together you swaddled her in blankets.

Any bad dreams were soon forgotten, replaced by light giggles as both you and Thrawn tickled the fears away and kissed her nose and forehead. Her eyes shone just as Thrawn’s, and slowly they began to close as a cozy slumber overtook her.

Your daughter slept well, between the warmth of her parents. Thrawn turned on his side, one hand caressing your hair while the other draped over the sleeping child and rested atop your hip.

You smiled. “Goodnight, my loves.”

You could feel the tender protectiveness radiating from your husband. His eyes slowly closed as well, leaving only a faint light emanating from behind his eyelids. Soon you too drifted off to sleep, nestled together with your small family.

#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn drabble #thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x y/n #thrawn fanfiction

104 notes · View notes

noraantilles · 7 months

Text

Stranded

Pairing: Thrawn x gn!reader (y/n)

Summary: Y/N and Thrawn crashed on an unknown planet with nowhere to go where the reader takes care of the grand admiral’s wounds. Y/N is a prisoner to the empire because they have special powers that allow them to do extraordinary things.

Warnings: descriptions of wounds, some swearing, fluff, potential enemies to lovers, reader has healing powers and can take pain, telekinesis

Word count: 1223 words

The landing was harsh. You and Thrawn jumped out of your ship which was split in half while you were heading towards the surface. You could slow down the fall with your telekinetic abilities but the branches of the trees you were falling through caught you anyways. With a light groan, you stood up slowly while inspecting your surroundings.

You landed in a forest. Flora and fauna, something you‘ve never seen before. On which planet were you? And where was your special Companion? “Admiral?“ You shouted into the jungle. No answer. With a concerned glance, you looked around. No way he came down that far away not to hear you. “Hey Admiral, where are you?“ you shouted again nervously.

As there seemed to be no answer for your second shout, your worries started to firm. What if he was dead and the impact of the fall killed him? As much as you hated to admit it to yourself, you liked him in some kind of way. Even if you are standing on different sides. Seeing him die, would mean a small win for the rebellion and that would be perfect, but you just didn’t feel right with that. It wouldn‘t just be a loss for the empire. No. It would be a loss for evolution itself. His intelligence and extraordinary abilities to think things through are immaculate. He is too important to die now and that is why you are worried.

“THRAWN?“ you shouted even louder than before when a dark figure limped out of the forest. “It‘s grand admiral and I am right here.“ You turned around surprised and relieved as you made your way towards him to support him. “What happened?“ you asked as you reached him, observing his wounds that didn’t look like they came from the fall. “A creature I have never seen before attacked me as I tried to walk away. I think my ankle is spread, that’s why I couldn’t run.“

His wounds were deep but the bleeding stopped due to unknown circumstances. It looked infected. In this condition, you weren’t able to heal him properly as you were just able to seal his wounds not disinfect them. But staying here where this thing could come back any moment was way too dangerous. “We need to get out of the forest. Can you walk?“ you stated as you adjusted your support. He nodded wordlessly.

After a short hike, you were able to make it out of the forest as you discovered a settlement in the far. It was a risk to approach a village of an unknown species, but you had no choice, so you headed towards it. At first, they were very defensive as they noticed you two but when they noticed Thrawns wounds they were very helpful. They gave you and Thrawn one of their huts so that he could rest and bring him some antibiotics made from local plants for the infection. Even though none of you spoke each other’s language it didn’t seem to be a big deal.

You waited on the outside of your hut as one of the locals handed you the medicine for him. Since you both were unknown to them, they decided it would be best if you treated his wounds alone.

You stepped back into the hut approaching Thrawn who was half sitting, half lying on some pillows.

Thrawn looked very calm and observed the accommodation. You could tell that he was notoriously stuck in another world that was absolutely new to him. “Are you alright?“ you asked him while you were prepping the salve to treat his infection. “Yes.“ he said stuck in his thoughts without taking his glare off the fabric ornaments which were found all around us. Wordlessly, because he was busy with something else anyway, you pulled back his shirt to face the wounds.

It looked awful. So awful that you really wondered how he was even able to stay conscious less being able to observe his surroundings so curiously like he always did when he found himself an opportunity to learn something new. You looked at him with a concerning frown. “Does that not hurt you?“ “It does.“ he answered like before still unfazed. The longer you looked at him the more you could read his facial expressions.

Sometimes when you moved the shirt further up you could see a slight flinch in his eyes. He seems so rough, but the pain must be enormous for him. Since the empire captured you, some time has passed, and they still weren’t able to get the information about you that they wanted. You never showed them what you could do and never fought back when they lured you into an ambush. That’s why they also never got to witness one of your most special abilities. Your ability to take pain with a physical touch and heal the wounds within a minute. The only thing that you couldn’t heal were blood infections like Thrawns, that’s why they gave you the salve.

You decided to no longer wait. You took some of the salve on your hands and spread them all over the wounds on his torso. The soon your touch hit him you took all of his pain to you. It flowed right through your hand and spread throughout your body. You gasped quietly. Ouch, that hurts like kriffing needles stabbing you from the inside out.

As soon as your body adjusted to the pain your face got more relaxed and you were now able to observe the immediate healing effect the medicine had. In the meantime, Thrawn's attention had finally turned to what was happening right in front of him. While you were staring completely focused on the healing progress, Thrawn witnessed something that he could not quite believe. With your hand resting on his lower torso his pain was completely gone. The fast thinker that he is, he immediately knew that it could not come from that odd salve you gave him, no. It must come from something else. Your touch.

To test his theory he grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand up while staring at you with an intense glare. But the soon as your hand left his body a wave of pain immediately hit him, and he hissed at the sudden very unpleasant sensation. He caught you right-handed. “What are you doing?” you said tauntingly and pushed your hand right back to his torso as the pain started to wander back into your body. As your face had adjusted to the pain you started to look at him.

His eyes were piercing into yours. He was speechless, shocked, and fascinated by what he just had witnessed. “Extraordinary.“ he mumbled while glaring into your eyes. You shivered. His big red eyes gave you a sensation that you have never felt before. It scared you but made you feel special at the same time.

Not once before you had exposed your powers to the empire. And it wasn’t like you had no choice right now. But there was something about the grand admiral that got to you. You always liked intelligent men, but never that much to put away your moral compass. Falling in love with the enemy got to be the worst thing that has ever happened to you. Or was it?

Authors note: Hey guys, thanks for reading. I have been writing for some time now and never posted anything. I am finally ready to share some of my Oneshots with you. My mother tongue isn’t English so please be tolerant of potential mistakes. Anyways, like, share, and reblog if you liked it and I am happy to receive your feedback.

#star wars #thrawn #chiss #thrawn x reader #thrawn x y/n #grand admiral thrawn #grand admiral thrawn x reader #mitth'raw'nuruodo #fanfic #Star Wars fanfic #thrawn fanfiction #grand admiral thrawn x you #thrawn x you #ahsoka #ahsoka series #lars mikkelsen #star wars rebels #ahsoka episode 6

114 notes · View notes

starsinmylatte · 7 months

Text

Thrawn is the kind of man to insist that he pays for your clothing, hair, and nails. Anything to allow his lover to shine like the work of art he knows they are.

Even if you can fully take care of it yourself, he genuinely wants to. He delights in seeing you happy and well cared for and he wants so badly to give you everything.

I may absolutely write more about this because it’s microwaving my brain

#listen I’m not saying sugar daddy thrawn #but I’m also not NOT saying it #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #blue man hot #lyria rambles #star wars #thrawn imagine #chiss #thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x y/n

104 notes · View notes

vibratingskull · 7 months

Text

For a dance with you

“A first kiss? With reader. Like in a semi public place! Like an empire week evening, a boring one.”

Here you go my friend @blackmonitor !

Its a Thrawn x f!reader

No beta reader involved, sorry for any typo

You sigh deeply…

You’re bored to death.

All those balls and soiree blurred and look the same to you. But as an admiral it is your duty to appear at those evenement and represent the Marine. It’s just… It’s always the same. The same face. The same dances. The same orchestra. The same low bows and subterfuges.

You massage your neck, easing your muscles, taking a deep breath. You look at the crowd in front of you. How many of them did you see yesterday and will see tomorrow? Too much.

“Are you okay, Admiral (y/l/n)?”

Your attention goes back to the small group of dignitaries you were talking to. Their conversation isn’t that reinvigorating, no wonder you dozed off.

“Yes… I will just go grab another drink.” You say, serving them the first excuse that comes to your mind and dump them.

You grab another glass, and as you walk aimlessly you see a large window opening on a balcony. You’re dying for some fresh air.

Thankfully there is nobody else on this balcony. You come leaning against the guardrail, appreciating the wind in your hair.

“Can I join you ?” A voice you would recognize among thousands raises behind your back.

You turn your head, to see the man of your dreams at the window frame. He too seems bored to death.

“You may.” You smile politely, trying to control the quaver of your voice. “You too need some fresh air?”

“I need a bastion to retreat and rethink a new strategy.” He explains, placing himself next to you, sighing “I don’t maneuver well in politics… It’s an aspect I will never grasp.”

You almost nudge him, but refrain before actually touching him.

“Don’t say that! You will manage one day, I’m sure.”

“Thank you for your words of encouragement, but I do not share your vision. It is as such, I have accepted it.”

Your arms almost touch, grazing each other, you feel your face heating up like hell.

“You came with someone?” you ask nonchalantly, but secretly afraid of the answer.

Please no date! Please no date! You pray internally

“I came here with Colonel Yularen, he wanted me to meet some people.” He responds unfazed, clearly unaware of your internal turmoil.

Gosh, the effect this man has on you is unreal. You discreetly wipe your sweaty palms, feeling the tension rise as he stays longer next to you. You try to play cool, but you feel painfully obvious. You chuckle nervously, earning you a side look and an inquisitive raised eyebrow. Relax Y/n, relax! He’s just some guy, some random man. RELAX!

But he’s not just a random man, not to you. First of all, because he’s your direct superior, that counts for something, and because he literally haunts you… Your mind, your dream, your work environment, everything oozes his presence and plague your daily life. Which is both a curse and a benediction.

“And you?” He finally ask.

“Hmm?” Wandering in your head, you’ve lost track of the conversation.

“What would be your ideal partner for such a soiree?”

“Oh,well…” You think for a second, who will be your ideal partner?

You.

But you can’t answer that. So you answer what’s most accurate.

“My lover, I would say. I’m a romantic at heart.”

You discreetly observe his reaction but he just nods, looking at his wine swirling in his glass.

At least he didn’t laugh.

“And you?” You ask to deflect the feeling of shame of such a confession.

“My ideal partner…” His hand went to his chin, his gaze fixated on the forest in front of him. “Let’s see… Someone special. Someone unique to me. Yes… A lover is a good choice…”

Your eyes widen, you both agree to something. His wine must be strong for him to open up in such a manner. But there is still one crucial question.

“Do… Do you have someone in mind?” You hold your breath.

“I do.”

You recoil on yourself.

With only two words he stabbed your heart and murdered you. You gulp, feeling tears behind your eyes. It’s life (y/n), accept it.

“I wish you could have enjoyed this soiree with the person of your choice and not just imagined it, sir.” You say swallowing your tears, breathing through your nose.

“But I do not have to imagine anything.” He whispers.

His hand slides across the guardrail and grazes yours ever so slightly.

You blink.

What ?

He seizes your hand, turning fully towards you. You remain mute, not fully comprehending what’s happening right now.

“(y/n)...”

Your eyes lock. You’re enthralled by those glowing fire orbs, sparkling with a mischievous, almost childish gleam, contrasting with his stern and serious demeanor. Is it… hope that I see? He caresses your cheek and tucks a strand of hair behind your ears.

“(y/n)...” He repeats, even lower

“Y-yes?” You stutter, too dumbfounded by what’s happening to function properly.

He tilts your chin, slowly leaning towards you.

“Don’t refuse me, please…”

That wouldn't even cross your mind. You feel his breath on your lips and close your eyes, incredulous.

He leaves a single, soft, sweet, tender kiss and you savor it like it’s your last.

But deep down, you know.

There are many more to come!

@Bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar

@thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics

#thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn x y/n #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth’raw’nuruodo #fanfic #vibratingskull

99 notes · View notes

the-hidden-empire · 7 months

Note

Hi there! I have a request how do everyone’s favorite imperial men react to their S/O who only uses peoples full names when their upset with them. And their S/O calling them with their full name sounding really upset with them.

Feel free to reject I know you have some stuff in your life going right now ❤️

A/N: Not proofread! Sooooo sorry for the delay!!! I was debating to write for Hux and Kyle, but I’m not sure how to write for them just yet!

Thrawn:

• You and loved you’re husband dearly, but at this moment in time, you just can’t seem to shake his actions off. They anger you.

• He maybe oblivious to women’s emotional signals, but when you called him by his original name, he knew you were upset.

• “Mitth'raw'nuruodo!” Anger laced you’re voice as you stormed into his command centre.

• “Clear out the room.” He orders strictly and swiftly, without hesitation.

• He holds you’re face, completely fixed on you and everything you rant to him about. Quietly taking in everything you say.

• He might not completely understand you’re emotion’s completely, but he tries!

• Will makeup it up to you by treating you to a romantic evening.

• Totally a huge simp for his wife.

• He makes it up to you in the bedroom, outside the bedroom.

• You may not see eye to eye, but you never went to bed upset with each other (not that he is easily emotionally triggered)

• His wife’s opinion of him means everything to him. He’s never want to tarnish you’re opinion of him, so sometimes he hides things to “protect” you. In reality, he’s afraid of letting you down. He aims to be the best husband to his darling wife, but sometime he struggles with being a husband.

Darth Vader:

• “Lord Vader.” You coldly greet you’re husband.

• When upset with him, you would refer to him as his title, and not as you’re husband.

• He was good at upsetting you, his actions were harsh and unfair in you’re opinion.

• When you were upset with him, or refused to acknowledge him as you’re husband, it angered him greatly.

• He would take his anger out on others.

• Times like that would make you see the darkness within him, and it made you doubt him.

• He would vanish on a long and gruesome missions without telling you.

• Only for you to miss him when he was gone, which he picked up on from you’re force bond (no matter how far away he was). That would be enough for him to return home to you.

• As his ship lands in the hanger bay, you run to meet him. You rush into the ship to avoid prying eyes of nosy passerby’s.

• He would be faced away from you as you hug him from behind and rest you’re forehead on his back.

• He takes you’re hands in his and apologizes through you’re bond in the force. He struggles with being verbal, but he had no issue ravelling them to you, and you alone, through the only way he knew how, and that was the force.

• You’d spend the night in you’re lovers arms, in the safety of his chamber. Making love and repairing you’re relationship.

• He may not be the best husband, but he vowed to never allow harm you’re way, so sometimes you’re feelings came second to you’re safety. His actions were always meant to keep you safe, and not for the emperor. He would burn the entire galaxy for you his precious wife.

76 notes · View notes

m-feline · 6 months

Text

It's finally done. My fan vid about Thrawn.

Hope you like it.

What sort animation shall I try next?

#star wars #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #blender #thrawn x you #thrawn x reader #thrawn x oc #thrawn x y/n #mitth’raw’nuruodo

31 notes · View notes

mithresha · 9 months

Text

My heart when he said this oh my goddddd ackkk!!!!😩❤❤❤

#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn x reader #star wars #star wars rebels #thrawn x you #thrawn x y/n #grand admiral thrawn x reader #mitth'raw'nuruodo x reader #mitth’raw’nuruodo

39 notes · View notes

bits-and-babs · 1 year

Text

𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄-𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄 — 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐍

↳ summary: A state dinner leaves the Grand Admiral wanting far more than was offered.

↳ pairing: Grand Admiral Thrawn/Mitth'raw'nuruodo x f!Reader

↳ [1.1k] content:18+ MDNI. Oral (f!receiving), masturbation (m), cumshot, general Thrawn power play bullshit, body worship(? In a roundabout way), power imbalance, eloquent Thrawn dialogue because this man knows his way around a thesaurus. - This is a @beskarbabs remaster -- original post date 2021.

thrawn masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

Thrawn’s affinity to art was not contained to that of paint and marble. The Grand Admiral had often lectured you in his admiration of other mediums. From music and holofilm to the violent beauty of war, Thrawn would often regard each ‘piece’ while revealing parts he admired and elements that he didn’t– all while appreciating it for exactly what it was.

You had also recently discovered that Thrawn considered cuisine a form of art. It had come to your attention at a state banquet for the Empire, where you noticed the Grand Admiral scrutinising each singular component of the dishes presented to him before trying it all together. While he never showed his appreciation outwardly, he had a tell- the very slight, barely there uptick in his brow.

Given that he claimed to be satiated, what you hadn’t expected was the food at the banquet leaving him wanting. Thrawn prevented you from returning to the barracks and had instead requested you, a stormtrooper from his elite force, join him in the journey to his study. You didn’t understand why- it’s Thrawn’s Imperial Star Destroyer, safe, on lockdown, and Thrawn is, himself, a master combatant. Only when the durasteel door slides behind you, and he orders with hungry eyes for you to remove your armour, do you realise he doesn’t need protecting at all.

He needs serving.

While you would love to know how Thrawn thinks you taste at this moment, the position and the technique of his tongue between your thighs render you incapable of lifting your head from where it was hanging off of the edge of his curved desk in his office. Instead, you whine softly, thighs pressing into either side of his sharp-edged cheekbones as he curls his tongue around your clit. The bones are so honed that they feel as though they could slit the soft, malleable flesh open, dripping crimson onto his azure cheeks.

Despite the heaviness of your eyelids resulting from the pleasure his tastebuds draw from you, you are sure of his tell– of the twitch of his midnight-blue brow. Thrawn teased your cunt ravenously, tasting every inch of you and relishing in the way you keen for him and spreading your thighs wider for his insatiable mouth. For what had been at least half an hour now, the highest rank of the 7th Imperial Fleet had been on his knees for you, velvety tongue gliding against your clit and devouring all you gave him.

The usually immaculate Grand Admiral did not mind getting his crystal white trousers dirty for a taste of your dripping cunt.

Wailing brokenly, you shift your hips up slightly, clit brushing the tip of the Grand Admiral’s nose as he dips his tongue into your entrance once more. The ends of his fingers grip harshly into the thighs on his shoulders, keeping you in place as you struggle desperately for more. No doubt there would be bruises in the morning, not all that different from his own sky-blue skin. Tears well in your eyes, frustrated beyond belief at his leisurely pace.

It’s only when Thrawn decides it’s time to pick up the pace that he begins to suck at your clit. Your back arches off the table, again unable to hold still as your superior tortures you. Head still tilted back, you’re panting heavily from the intense workout you’d suffered, cheeks hot and sweat clinging to your body. You find yourself wondering if he likes you like this; fucked out and exhausted.

Flicking the tip of his hot, deft tongue across your clit, Thrawn manages to set a pace that has your orgasm building so tight and fast.

“G-Grand Admiral-” You stammer urgently, losing yourself as you thread your fingers through his deep midnight hair, “Thra- Sir, I’m-”

His hands push your thighs wider apart, holding them steady as he rapidly traces your clit, and, oh, it hits you so fast. It surges, the muscles in your lower abdomen pulling up tight, and your back lifts once more as it just rushes through you. It cuts off your hearing- but you swear you are sobbing, cursing at the stars.

You’re exhausted when the afterglow hits, slumped against the desk with fatigue. Thrawn pulls away and sits up, drawing his thumb across his lips. His other palm splays wide across your abdomen, silently telling you to stay in this particular position, which you do gladly. You’re too exhausted to attempt sitting up.

The sound of the zipper of the Grand Admiral’s pants cuts through the singular sound of your heavy breathing, causing you to glance over at him. His hand works underneath the white waistband of his uniform trousers, taking his thick pulsing cock into his palm.

Again, only you pick up on the signs that he feels good. The slight hitch in his breath, the way his shoulders slump and relax. Always wound so tight, always carrying the weight of the 7th Fleet on his shoulders alone- wanting to please the Emperor.

He gives his cock a squeeze, brushing the pad of his thumb across the leaking tip as he lets out a shuddering breath. Those scarlet eyes flick up to take in your thoroughly fucked out state before he begins working his fist.

“I find myself drawn to you this way,” he muses, his steady voice refusing to betray him as he stroked his length from base to tip. You often wondered if he meant to portray himself this way, powerful and unmoving, or if he naturally exudes that aura. So much of your superior was yet still a mystery to you.

“Amongst even the finest pieces in the galaxy, You are by far the most striking creation in here,” he admitted, his voice a little strained despite his best efforts. You’ll take that compliment.

His fist was moving quicker, working just underneath the throbbing head of his cock. You watch him smear precum across his swollen tip as he did, strokes rough now.

Soon, his breath is hitching more, a somewhat violet tinge to his cheeks, which you assume is a form of flush. He’s close. You’d never seen him like this; most of your secret rendezvous quick while he took you from behind. This is a new form of vulnerability- one you felt lucky to witness.

With a few more rough strokes, Thrawn lets out a deep, quiet groan of bliss. His cum paints you, streaking across your chest and abdomen as he continues to pull at his cock. When he’s finished, the white ropes of cum paint the skin of your thighs too.

Unlike most times, Thrawn does not rush to dress. Instead, he holds your waist, thumb brushing the curve of your ribs as he admires you, taking in every inch.

“Yes. Most definitely the finest piece of artwork I have acquired.”

join the taglist here

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog1 @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @Malici0usPuff1n

Tagging some mutuals who may be interested (as I know you write for him!) @grinningnexu & @saradika

@mylifeisactuallyamess - this one is for you bb xx

356 notes · View notes

readinglistfics · 7 months

Text

live reaction of me watching grand admiral thrawn make his big speech

the brainrot is still here

#thrawn #star wars #grand admiral thrawn #ahsoka #lars mikkelsen #star wars rebels #thrawn x reader #thrawn imagine #star wars chiss #thrawn x y/n #thrawn hot #ahsoka spoilers

67 notes · View notes

al-astakbar · 10 months

Text

☆ Good and Faithful Service - Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ Good and Faithful Service

> summary ☆ Grand Admiral Thrawn gets dosed with a powerful aphrodisiac and then trapped in a room with one of his junior officers. She offers to help him through it

> pairing ☆ Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [5.1k] ☆ warnings ☆ aphrodisiacs; mildly dubious consent; masturbation; blow job; PIV sex; power dynamics & imbalance; fraternization

> posted on ao3 ☆

“Sir,” you try to be discrete about clearing your throat. “Are you sure that’s… safe?”

The Grand Admiral gives you a quelling look and you immediately step back, determinedly not looking anywhere in the direction of your hosts, the rulers of this planet who had offered Grand Admiral Thrawn the drink in the first place.

It seems to be some sort of hospitality ritual, though nothing about the Nevow people is suspicious or threatening. Indeed, everything has gone perfectly to plan so far. The negotiations have been amicably concluded, the Nevow people have reaffirmed their strong loyalty to the Empire, and committed to a 1.5 percent yield increase in yttria mining productivity over three years.

Grand Admiral Thrawn had been very pleased with that. Or, you’re pretty sure he was. After almost a year serving as his aide de camp, he is still as enigmatic and aloof as the day you first reported to his command. Most of the time, you just can’t read him, and you still don’t know if that’s really what he’s like, or his sabacc face is just that good.

It’s been frustrating, to say the least. He is a good boss, you’ve decided, and an outstanding leader. You like serving under him, had even requested the Chimaera as your first duty station after hearing about its accomplishments. You hadn’t expected your assignment as his personal aide. There were rumors aboard the ship that none of his previous aides had lasted longer than three months. Either he had dismissed them, or, if they had connections, they pulled strings to get transferred. You can understand where some of the conflict came from. He has been cold, blunt, and uncompromising. But from the moment he caught you doodling on your flimsi in a meeting, and instead of reprimanding you, he’d nearly smiled, and had given you a quiet compliment in that soft, thoughtful voice… well, perhaps your allegiance is too easy to win. But you are loyal.

You watch him and the Nevow toast, and down their drinks at the same time. Well, whatever was in it, you only have one night left on the planet. Tomorrow, the shuttle will take you back to the Chimaera and you can get a little distance from him. Not that there is much privacy on an Imperial Star Destroyer, even for a mid-grade officer. You share a stateroom with another lieutenant, but this whole trip it’s just been you and the Grand Admiral in suites and generally close quarters, and it is very hard to repress a blossoming crush when you’re at his side every minute of every day and he’s sleeping just in the next room.

He purses his lips. Whatever was in the drink, it looks bracing, and definitely not to his taste. The Nevow Second Undersecretary of Mining and Industry steps forward with an elaborately-wrapped gift.

“And now, Grand Admiral Thrawn, it is our honor to present you with this ewer, fashioned from tempered yttria and embellished with precious sun-stones. This vessel was made in the traditional style of our people, used for our custom of imbibing the galvi root in preparation for the mating ceremony.”

Your gaze flickers to the Grand Admiral for a moment. Mating ceremony? Slightly odd choice for a diplomatic exchange. If he agrees, he gives no indication. He inclines his head to each of the Nevow leaders in rank-order. “I am honored… it is truly an exquisite example of Nevow craftsmanship and artistry.” He accepts it on behalf of the Galactic Empire, holds it solemnly as they pose for holos, and then it is handed off to a porter to be conveyed to the shuttle.

That’s your cue to approach with the gift the Grand Admiral had selected for the exchange. And it was his choice-- you know for a fact that any other commander of his rank and many lower would have foisted the task on a junior officer. He had delighted in it. He had spent hours poring over dealer listings, researching the Nevow, had asked your opinion on several options, as he had started doing more and more. That had been one point of friction, early on. You deferred too much, when he was really asking for your sincere thoughts. Even if you disagreed or questioned him, he did not punish you. Another odd trait of his, and so starkly different from any other senior officers you’d met.

The Nevow act suitably impressed and appreciative of the set of greenstone swords. You notice that a couple of their party have grown sharp-eyed, watching you and your commander a little too intently. Was the gift inadequate? Or are they looking for some other reaction…

The Second Undersecretary launches into a longer explanation of the ewer, describing its purpose and the significance of the mating ceremony as a religious rite, meant to be a sacrifice of pleasure to the gods.

Grand Admiral Thrawn seems unusually restless. You’ve been around him long enough to know that he has a stillness to him, that even when the Chimaera is getting rocked by salvos of turbolasers and cannons, and enemy fighters are trying to suicide into the bridge, he will stand there, hands behind his back, a center of calm authority in the eye of the storm. Now he’s shifted on his feet not once, but twice. He pulls at the high, stiff collar of his pristine white uniform, as if it’s too tight. When the Second Undersecretary starts in on some rather lurid detail about the joining, you think you see his jaw clench. To be fair, it has you blushing too, watching him wide-eyed until he gives a sideways glance, one eyebrow raised and then you swallow thickly, cheeks flaming even hotter as you quickly look at anything else.

At last, following some final pleasantries and exclamations about how late it is, your hosts bid you goodnight. An honor guard escorts you to your quarters. You follow dutifully along behind the Grand Admiral, noting that this isn’t the right way to get to the suite they had you staying in.

“Sir?” You ask quietly, trying to mask the trepidation in your voice.

“Yes, Lieutenant.” He doesn’t turn to look at you, but you can tell from his tone-- he realizes, too. Of course.

The honor guard brings you to a different set of rooms, not the ones you’d been staying in, with an explanation about the refresher flooding, and water damage. “All of your belongings have been transferred here. We do apologize.”

The guards see you into the new room, then bow and depart, shutting the door behind them.

You go immediately to inspect your things, making sure none of the locks have been tampered with. “Everything appears to be in order, sir. Nothing’s missing.”

The Grand Admiral does not answer. You turn from where you’re kneeling to find him standing there, with all his impressive height, staring down at you. There is a strange intensity in his glowing red eyes, a hunger. Many of your crewmates find his eyes unnerving-- completely red, with no pupils or iris-- it’s impossible to tell exactly where he’s looking. But right now, there’s no mistaking the weight of his regard on you.

He runs his hand through his hair. Another strange gesture. Then he turns away. You move quickly to get out the mobile workstations and datapads, get them set up. He’ll want quiet, and a chance to catch up on work before tomorrow. He thanks you, and then you settle down to your own work at the smaller desk.

This room is stuffy and too small. It seems designed to force its occupants into close quarters. Several times, you glance up to find the Grand Admiral watching you. Intent. Appraising. It’s the same look he gets when he’s studying a newly-acquired piece for his collection. Very rarely, aboard the Chimaera, you’ve caught him looking at you like that, but he’s never been so brazen about it before. You shift in your seat, feeling your cheeks redden and the first blush of arousal heat your core.

You steadfastly ignore it. Ignore the fact that your commanding officer is looking at you like he wants to take you to bed.

You take a deep breath, and try to focus. Focus on anything else besides how darkly handsome he is. Besides how the low light in the room makes his blue skin more vibrant, and how something catches in your chest at the very thought of being attracted to him. How very not-human he is, and how you want to trace your fingers along the strong cut of his jaw, just to see what kind of reaction you’d get. He’s your superior, you keep reminding yourself.

After a time, Grand Admiral Thrawn stands, and you look up to see him unbuckling his service belt, swiftly followed by unfastening his collar clasp and then the sealing strip of his tunic.

You nearly choke. “S-sir?”

His eyes snap up, as if he’d forgotten you were there. “Dismissed, Lieutenant. Get some rest.”

You can’t obey his order any faster, but when you get to the door to the adjoining room, you find it’s locked. Confused, you try it again. “Sir? I’m sorry, but it seems they forgot to unlock the door to the other room.”

His eyes narrow. “Galvi root.”

You look at him, bewildered.

“Galvi root,” he repeats. “Our hosts did not forget. The windows and the door to the hall will be locked as well.”

You stride over to try them. He’s right, of course, but-- “they didn’t take our blasters.”

He lets his eyes slip shut, takes a deep breath and shakes his head slowly. “The primary rare metal export of this planet, Lieutenant,” he prompts you.

Realization and dread sink like a weight in your stomach. “Yttria.” Highly resistant to heat and temperature fluctuations. Perfect to repel blaster fire. Every fixture in the room is probably imbued with it, including the locks and door panels and windows.

“Comms?” You ask hopefully.

“Jammed.”

“... Galvi root?”

He gives another one of his piercing stares. “The ritual, Lieutenant.”

Then, it all clicks, and your voice pitches up at the sheer absurdity of the situation. “They dosed you! To get you to- to carry out some ceremony for their religion?”

“For us to carry it out.”

A shock of desire pulses through you, you can feel it in your chest, pounding in your ears. You cross your legs under the desk, pressing your thighs together, seeking friction.

“It has already…” he pauses, uncharacteristically. Almost flustered. “It has already begun to take effect.”

You can’t help it. You have to look. Beneath the shadow of his open tunic, you can just make out a bulge straining the front of his trousers. He catches you, and raises his eyebrow at you. You quickly stare at your lap, face burning, mortified to even be having this conversation with him.

“I will not-- we will wait. When we don’t return to the Chimaera tomorrow morning, searches will be launched immediately. If not before. We’re expected for morning comms check before our shuttle is scheduled to depart, and when we miss that, Commodore Faro will know something has gone wrong.”

“Sir, are you sure it’s… is it safe to ignore it?”

He fixes you with a knowing look, his voice low and soft. “No, Lieutenant. Are you offering an alternative?”

The words catch in your throat. You could rise. Go to him. Make it clear what you’re willing to do. You sit, keeping yourself very still.

Silence settles, thick and heavy and hot. You wish you could change out of your uniform, but that’s out of the question. You wouldn’t even dare undoing the sealing strip and pinning the flap open to the opposite shoulder like some officers do for a more casual, comfortable look. Never mind that it clearly violates Imperial Navy uniform policy.

The Grand Admiral appears to be meditating. Or at least trying. He is sitting perfectly straight, facing the latticework windows. His eyes are closed, his breathing deep and deliberate. But calm eludes him. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple— you’ve never seen him sweat, had wondered if his species just didn’t— his hands, which he has flat on his thighs, clench into fists.

Then one of his hands shifts, grabs and squeezes the bulge that has only grown more prominent. He stifles a pained groan.

You put aside your embarrassment. You have to say something. “Please, sir. I’ve heard of drugs like this. If you do nothing, it will maim you. The Undersecretary even said—“

“I heard him, Lieutenant.” He lets a beat pass, “You have a suggestion?”

You almost don’t. Can’t believe you’re saying this, but you do anyway, in your most professional, Graduate of Royal Imperial voice. “You should try… taking care of it, sir. With your hand, I mean. I’ll face the wall and…”

He stares at you, and for a moment you wonder if you’ve gone too far.

Before he agrees or refuses, you get up and do it, going to the farthest corner of the room, which isn’t very far.

Sound carries all too well in the oppressive, still heat of the small room. You hear, almost feel every one of his movements. He gets up, shrugs out of his tunic. Folds it with much less care than he normally does and tosses it on the desk. His rank plaque and epaulets clatter against the wood. More rumpling of fabric, and he quickly takes himself in hand. He exhales in quiet relief and then— flesh on flesh.

You shut your eyes, trying very hard not to imagine what you would see if you turned around. Your commanding officer, brow furrowed, mouth parted in pleasure as he strokes his cock. And that, too, is a singularly intriguing thought. Is he big? Small? Anywhere near human?

You shift on your feet, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. To be standing here listening to him get himself off is one thing, but if he were to see your body’s reaction to it. To him…

Soon, the rhythmic sounds get faster, louder. Harsher. His breath hitches and you can tell that he’s coming and with that realization you feel your resolve fracture against a powerful shock of need.

You listen to his breathing slow and even out, while struggling to keep yourself steady.

You don’t turn around until he tells you. He is more disheveled than ever, pacing in a corner of the small room in his black undershirt. His normally sleek blue-black hair is messy, stranded with sweat.

You track him, drinking in the sight of his tall, powerful build. Well-muscled arms, shoulders, chest, trim waist. Strong legs, which your mind unhelpfully imagines straddling. The Grand Admiral has always cut an imposing figure, but most people only credit his brilliant mind for tactics and strategy even though he is, at his core, a warrior first above all else.

He catches you staring, again, but makes no comment on your open admiration of him. To your surprise, he gives it right back, fixing you with an intent, lustful stare that makes you squirm. He wouldn’t, you tell yourself. He won’t take you to bed. But he’s thinking about it. He’s the first to break the spell, turning away as another spasm of pain wracks his body.

He sits again, resting his elbows on his knees, his shoulders hunched, head bowed. He stays like this, you aren’t sure how long. Whatever jamming they’ve got around the room has also affected your chrono. Long enough that you get worried, and he’s rocking slightly, breathing labored.

“Sir?” He doesn’t answer. Concerned, you finally get up and approach him. He’s still breathing, at least. “Sir?” When again he doesn’t respond, you reach out and very lightly touch his arm.

He open-flexes his hand, then clenches it into a fist. “Don’t.”

You yank your hand away. “Sorry… Did it help?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No. I--” his fingers grasp at his thigh, pulling at the now-rumpled wool “-- I think it made it worse.”

You digest this for a moment, and then, “can I help?”

Everything seems to stop, to go still and silent. You feel your heart beating in your ears, you’re staring at a spot on the wall across the room but your eyes won’t focus. You’d really gone too far.

When Grand Admiral Thrawn speaks, his smooth, modulated voice has an edge of amusement to it. “You’re proposing fraternization with your commanding officer, Lieutenant.”

“It’s a practical solution to the problem, sir.”

He draws himself up, holding himself with all of his usual commanding bearing, and the effect is not lost on you. “Tell me precisely what you are offering, Lieutenant. Be explicit.”

You swallow thickly, trying to regain some of your composure. “I-- I’ll…” You look at him helplessly, but get no reprieve. What have you gotten yourself into? “I’ll suck your cock, sir. And if that still doesn’t help with the effects of the drug, you can… you can fuck me.”

He leans back, and you can see the huge bulge in his trousers on full display, his erection straining the fabric. He taps the arm of the chair, a gesture you recognize as him thinking. You’re prepared for rejection, certainly. For the promise of a court martial when you get back to the Chimaera. For how little you, and everyone else really knows about Thrawn, you realize that propositioning him, even with the best intentions, was an extremely foolish idea. You’ve seen him shoot an officer before. Right on the bridge. The question is, have you made an error, or a mistake?

“Very well.” He sits back more, widens his legs.

You gape at him, blinking, before what he said sinks in. Oh. You respond as if it’s any other order he’s given you, anything else he’s entitled to compel you to do as your superior.

You move quickly, with purpose, get in front of him and drop to your knees. “You have permission to remove your tunic, Lieutenant,” he says rather dryly. You do, quickly, grateful to be rid of the itchy, high collar. Then, you look up once more, reaching for his fly with shaking hands; he nods, his red eyes gleaming as you pop open the buttons and pull the fabric aside. He hisses in sharply as the material drags over his erection.

You pull the material down more, and finally, his cock springs free. You can’t help your quiet gasp and the unprofessional holy shit, sir that escapes you. It’s gloriously long and thick and purple and, when you reach for it, you can’t quite get your fingers all the way around. He shifts again, getting his pants down more to expose his balls, large and heavy. Impulsively, you dip your head to lick them-- he tenses-- you suck on one and his hips jerk up.

The reaction sends another thrill of arousal through you. You switch, laving the hot skin, taking in his taste and scent. Part of it is familiar. The same wool and starch that’s standard throughout the Imperial Navy. The part that is all him is intoxicating, something crisp and wintry and wholly alien.

Though he’s trembling, his control over his own body tenuous, he does not hurry you.

He’s gripping the arms of the chair hard, and when you lick the underside of his erection, he exhales a shuddering breath. You do it again, dragging your tongue up that one prominent vein, tasting his pulse, and you wonder how you’ll fit him all in your mouth. How it’ll feel when-- if-- he fucks you.

You press your thighs together. Take him in your mouth, let him push past your lips and feel the huge, thick weight of his cock on your tongue. You grip him at the base, pumping your hand. Start to bob your head slowly and the Grand Admiral gives a strangled moan.

Your eyes flick up. You’d been steadily not looking, some ridiculous thought about giving him that little bit of privacy, even as you suck him. His gaze is there to meet yours, hooded and glowing and imperious. You hold it, keep moving with the head of his cock sliding over your tongue, feeling utterly filthy. Devoted. Loyal.

You force yourself to take more of his length, deeper, until your mouth is stretched uncomfortably full, until the plush head nudges the back of your throat. You brace your hand on his thigh, which is tense, the hard muscle flexing under your touch. For a moment you worry it’s too forward, too intimate, but he bucks up and groans your name. Not your surname. Not Lieutenant. Your given name.

You choke, spluttering as he starts to thrust up into your mouth. He says it again, so close to breaking, his usual effortless control over himself and everything around him threatening to crumble. Eyes wide and watering, you look up at him, greedily drinking in his expression as he surges up, fucking your warm, willing mouth, allowing you to serve him in this way.

He loses some internal battle with himself, relents, his hand going to the back of your head, tangling in your hair so he can make full use of you, his balls pressing against your chin. His neck is corded, his chest rising and falling with rapid, jagged breaths. You breathe through your nose, jaw aching, face shiny and slick with drool. Refuse to look away, refuse to close your eyes to him. He seems entranced with the sight of you between his legs, lips stretched wide around his shaft, swallowing his cock.

It doesn’t take him long to come, and he gives you little warning. Only a strained groan and a terse “swallow as much as you can, Lieutenant” and then his movements jerk and stall and he’s coming down your throat. His smell and taste overwhelm your senses, familiarly salty but with something else cool and crisp, and you remember, again, you don’t even know what species he is. You obediently do as he says before you can’t swallow anymore; he overfills your mouth, spurting more and more cum, so much you sputter and choke and pull back, a string of the viscous spend stretching from your lips to his cock. You’ve made a mess, or rather, he has, but you will be the one to clean it up.

Dazed, you lean in, licking his still-hard shaft as he continues to twitch and pulse. You’d swallowed as much as you could, but it had leaked out, dripping down your chin, and on him, already drying sticky and clear on his pants. Some on his polished black jackboots, even.

“Sorry, sir,” you murmur, sitting back on your heels.

Thrawn-- Admiral Thrawn, you remind yourself-- offers no praise or reassurance.

His eyes seem to glow brighter, unnervingly fixed on you, on the debauched mess he’s made of you. Your hair, your cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, his cum all over your mouth and chin. He reaches for your face, swipes some off your chin and offers his thumb to your lips. You suck without thinking and, to your ultimate humiliation, let out a desperate, muffled whimper.

When he withdraws you take a deep, shaky breath, eyes bleary, core throbbing with unmet need. He seems to have recovered his self-control, at least for now, though his cock is still achingly hard. He stands, grabbing it, as if it’s too painful not to touch.

“Did it… help? … sir?” You amend quickly, almost forgetting the honorific.

His jaw works, and he pumps his erection slowly, right there in front of you. You watch his hand, entranced as he slick-slides up and down his shaft. “Undress.”

You nod, unable to reply as proper military bearing dictates. Your hands shake, fumbling with your pants. He does it for you. Sits you on the bed and pulls your boots off one by one. Then undoes your trousers, pulls them off with your standard-issue skivvies. All efficiency, no lingering touches. He pushes your undershirt up over your breasts.

Conflict screams in your mind. That this is wrong, against regulations, that it’s the Grand Admiral and you won’t be able to look at him after this but… Your duty is to him. Your duty is to serve.

You are bare before him. He doesn’t bother shucking his own boots and trousers, but simply crawls over you, and kisses you deeply. You whimper in surprise, and allow his tongue to sweep into your mouth, for him to lay this claim on you as well.

You spread your legs wider for his rutting hips, driven by your need, a drunken, weightless feeling. Your empty cunt clenches in anticipation, he finds the angle where his erection slides over your clit, swallows down your moans and keeps doing it.

The head of his cock catches your hole-- he slips, you’re tight and so so wet. He breaks the kiss with a growl. Tries again, deliberate and slow, positioning himself and pushing in mercilessly.

It’s too much, his girth splitting you as he works to open you around his thick shaft. You pant, whining with the effort. “Thrawn--”

Too familiar by far, but he huffs gently, almost a smile. He rolls his hips, licks his thumb and presses it to your clit. You gasp, looking down to watch where your bodies are connected. You are close already, each new flush of pleasure opening you more to him, letting you take him deeper, harder, faster.

He pins you down with his well-muscled weight, makes you take all of his massive cock, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. The tight little circles on your clit drive your need higher, tighter, sharpening to a singular point and then you’re coming with a quiet, desperate little sound, waves of pleasure radiating from your core as you clench and flutter around him. Thrawn follows a second later, hitching your legs up, pressing your knees to your shoulders. He buries himself deep in your pussy, grinding relentlessly as he pumps his cum into you. Fills you up, more than you can take, just as he had your mouth. This, too, you can feel leaking out, sticky on your thighs.

He sighs and pulls out. Sated for now, barely. You lie there, breathless, turning your head to follow him as he goes to get a cup of water. He brings one to you before drinking himself. A small gesture. Senior officers always eat last after crew and junior officers.

He lets you rest for a time before taking you again, and after another respite, a third time, chasing his release over and over. By the fourth, you are too fucked out and exhausted to hold yourself up. He arranges you as he pleases, face down and prone on the bed. You cant your hips up for him and he climbs over you, sinking into you easily with an obscene, wet sound. He kicks your legs wider, lets his thrusts take him deeper until he’s driving into you with long, full strokes and all you can do is submit.

You wonder how long it has been for him. How long since he’s had a partner, or permitted himself this kind of indulgence. You can sense him giving in to some darker, wilder part of his nature. The instinct to possess, and mark, and dominate. You’ve seen hints of it before, very briefly. His sometimes brutal pragmatism. His cold calculus that would always find the most advantageous solution, even at the cost of lives. If he wanted to, he could just collect art. Instead he chose rank. He chose power.

Any shred of his self control is long gone. His movements are rough, he’s given over to a feverish lust. He pounds into you as if your body belongs to him, as if you’re nothing but a hole, something warm and wet for him to fuck. Still, the pleasure rises in you again, all of it has made you unbearably sensitive.

You moan into the sheets, helpless and wanton, giving yourself over to him and letting him use your body. He holds you down when you cry out, stretching you to your limit. You don’t struggle. Just take his cock as he reams you, as another climax starts to overtake you, harsh and hot and raw. Thrawn growls when he feels you. Accepts your good and faithful service and pushes into you deep deep deep and stills there so you feel his hot spurts of cum fill you up and overflow.

He pulls out with a slick sound. Empty again, you twitch and spasm, pushing some of his cum out, making it drip down your used, swollen cunt. You can feel his gaze lingering there. He likes what he’s done, likes the sight of it. For a moment, you imagine yourself not as his aide, not as a junior officer under his command but as a piece on display in his collection. Something prized and fascinating. Another time he might lay you out and touch you for hours, curious as to how long he could stimulate and tease you before you break.

Eventually, you drift quietly to sleep, and awaken under the covers. The light in the room has changed. Morning. The Grand Admiral is fully dressed, seated in an armchair with a steaming cup of caf and his datapad.

“We are free to go,” he says without looking up from his reading. You hear the unspoken command and get up immediately and get dressed, gathering your tunic and trousers and boots from where they’re scattered around the room. Again, he does not bother to look up.

Once on the shuttle, you aren’t sure how to act normal. He speaks to you as he always has, with quiet, direct instructions. You do your best but all you can think of is him telling you to swallow as much as you can. You look down at your uniform and find a dried blot of his cum on your pants. Shit. You try to scratch it off.

“Lieutenant.” The Grand Admiral’s voice cuts into your thoughts rather sharply.

“Yes, sir.” You sit up, properly chastised. It’s not like you to be inattentive, and he gives you a stern look before continuing.

“The galvi root. It has great potential as a bioweapon, of sorts, but will need further study. I obtained a sample before we left.”

You nod, dutifully noting all of this down.

“I’ll need you to test it, Lieutenant.”

“But I… it… alone?” Is all you can manage.

“No. Set aside twelve hours or so in my schedule.” His voice goes cool and soft. Full of promise. “Not to worry, Lieutenant. I will be there to see you through it.”

☆ link to part 2

#Thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn x you #thrawn x reader #thrawn fic #thrawntent #thrawn x y/n #mitth'raw'nuruodo #thrawn fanfic #thrawn fanfiction #star wars

322 notes · View notes