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?”
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.
I’m SUPER attached to new canon Thrawn, like he IS my version of Thrawn. So, I’ve been really hesitant to read/listen to the Heir to the Empire series because of the ending I know- which I disagree with lol- and the difference in personality.
But!
I am- however- excited to see my newest formed crush….Luke Skywalker 😂
So, I am currently listening now, and will be live blogging my experience lol
↳ 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.”
“What are the odds of the Emperor finding out that you’ve been seeing me?” You asked, voice small.
Red eyes looked you over only briefly before Thrawn answered. “The odds are high.”
Sinking low in your seat, you grumbled uneasily.
“You are not a threat to the Empire.”
You met his gaze and rose an eyebrow. “He might think otherwise.”
“Mm…You speak in regards to if he believes you to delay my efforts to follow out his orders.”
“Yes.”
“I never fail to carry out an order.”
“In your own style,” you added.
Thrawn’s red eyes twinkled. He crossed the short distance to sit beside you.
“But even with your brilliance…the Emperor might consider me,” you lowered your voice, “a threat. Because he might see me as…in a way…taking more room in your life when he wants to be your priority.”
“I see.”
The room fell silent. Thoughtful frowns were unintentionally targeted to an empty arm chair.
I’ll end up on the list of people who mysteriously disappeared for sure, you thought sorrowfully. If the Emperor figures out Thrawn’s relationship with me….I’m a goner.
A light pressure softened the crease you made between your eyebrows. One of Thrawn’s fingertips.
Your lips pulled into a small smile and widened as Thrawn directed your face to him.
“I will not let harm come to you.” Thrawn stated. The confidence in his voice covered his deep concern. For he knew quite well how much danger you were in. “I will keep you safe.”
Imagine: Getting stuck in a turbolift with Thrawn and Eli.
~~~
The inside of the turbolift was quiet aside from the murmurs from the Imperial officers beside you. You were more concerned with reaching a meeting on time.
A gear screech and a jolt later, the turbolift came to a halt. The doors remained closed.
"Blast. We're between levels?" The young man, a human, gave a panicked look to his blue-skinned companion.
"It appears so." The higher ranked officer stated.
Grabbing your comm, you keyed in one of your co-workers' numbers.
"Hey, I--yes, I'm going to be there, but....the turbolift on the Southside stalled," you said with humored irritation. "No. It's the South one. Why would I use the Eastside one? That's always broke. Can you contact maintenance, please?" From the corner of your eye, you saw the men listening intently. Your co-worker on the other hand was asking filler questions. "I don't have their number frequency stored on my comm. Please tell them that it's the third turbolift with one citizen and two Imperial officers." You smiled as the co-worker quickly decided to end the call. Sighing, you turned to the Imperial officers.
"The process to repair the turbolift has been given greater priority?" The blue-skinned officer asked rather calmly.
"I should hope so, sir," you replied.
A mechanical groan caused the three of you to look up.
"Maybe we should call someone, sir." The other officer suggested as something outside the lift hissed.
