#thrawn x oc

[raevulsix]

Here’s the second part done for with for @nahoney22’s awesome fic, A Warrior’s Need. ✨

Slight NSFW, Thrawn x Reader. 💙

You can find the fic here.

[readinglistfics]

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)

[pocket-thrawn]

Crossing the Stars

A pretty self-indulgent fic, warming up my Thrawn writing muscles.

Thrawn x f!reader

Music swirled around you, painting dazzling notes of clear flutes and heady cellos all merging into a beautiful symphony. You smelled the fine wines and the decadent foods being passed around on silver platters by carefully dressed servants.

Despite the rich atmosphere and numerous happily chatting guests, all that filled your mind was the injustice of such rich frivolity when there remained such desperate suffering in the Galaxy. Acts of atrocity spurred on and, in some cases, encouraged by the very Empire you had to pretend to support.

Naboo was your home world, and you had fought tooth and nail to keep your people as protected from the Empire’s influence as you could. Your fellow senators had become little more than puppets dancing luridly on the end of Palpatine’s strings after the fall of the Republic. It was with a heavy heart you took up the mantle of Naboo’s senator after the last Queen had so tragically passed away.

So many uniformed individuals, your heart twisted at the sight of the Stormtroopers and Imperial officers milling around. Your own traditional dress brushed velvet against your skin as you turned and walked unhurried to a part of the grand hall that was sufficiently unoccupied.

“Oh, I do apologize.” You said, brushing against another body as you maneuvered around a rather gaudy potted plant.

“It is quite alright.”

You turned your head to offer the gentleman a commiserating sort of look at the state of affairs here, yet the small smile froze upon your face. Your eyes widened slightly, knowing immediately the identity of the blue-skinned alien you’d carelessly knocked into.

“Grand Admiral.” You said, fluidly moving to an appropriate distance from the Chiss.

Thrawn looked down upon you, a small tensing of his lips the only indicator of his amusement. “It seems you already know who I am. I would be remiss not to ask for your identity miss…”

“Erys.” The false name you’d created rolled easily off your tongue as you politely extended your hand, unsure if he would take it. “Senator and representative of Naboo and her people.”

Thrawn did indeed take your hand and shook once before relinquishing it. You noticed immediately how unusually warm his skin was against yours. “Grand Admiral Thrawn, of the Imperial Navy. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, however abrupt in nature.”

“Yes…” You pulled your skirts fully off the offending plant and gave it an aggrieved glance. “Again, sorry about that.”

Thrawn simply gave a small smile. His glowing red eyes unnerving in the emotionless quality they lent.

“Enjoying the gala?” You ventured, feeling obligated to keep the conversation going. You were almost on auto-pilot at this point, going through the motions of a political representative.

“Not entirely.” Thrawn’s smooth voice was almost hypnotic, you found yourself leaning in to hear better as he cast a look around the crowded room. “I am of far better use on the command deck of the Chimaera.”

“Your Star Destroyer, of course.” Something in your voice must have betrayed your disdain for the Imperial vessels because Thrawn’s piercing gaze flicked back to your face.

“Indeed.”

“You had art specially commissioned for the body of your ship, correct?”

“I’m surprised you are aware of my personalization.” Thrawn seemed to be growing ever more interested in this banter.

You chuckled, making sure to not make excessive eye contact with him. You didn’t want gossiping whispers following you back to Naboo. “I’m not sure there’s anyone who doesn’t know of it.” You met his eyes again, he was making no such tactful attempts. “It’s quite the statement.”

“There’s little about me that isn’t.” Thrawn intoned, drawing a surprised chuckle from you. “May I ask after the nature of your clothing?” He continued, hands tightly clasped behind his back and yet his gaze almost felt corporeal on your person as he studied you.

You swallowed a little thickly through your nerves. The points of brighter red you guessed served as Thrawn’s pupils followed the movement of your throat as you spoke. “Yes, of course.”

Thrawn held up a quelling hand for a moment, smiling politely. “I do not wish to impose my presence if unwanted.” It seemed he wished to clarify his intentions. “The conversation you lend is proving to be the most tolerable of this evening.”

You gave him a dubious look. “I get the impression that’s not saying much.”

He chuckled, short and quiet, but yet an actual expression of mirth from a man rumored to be implacable and cold at all times. “No, you are quite correct.”

“Still…” You decided to capitalize on this congenial moment. “I thank you for the compliment. My dress, as you already suggested, is fashioned after the regal regalia of my home world.”

“Excellent play on words.” Thrawn turned his body fully to face you and despite yourself, you did the same. “Please, continue.”

You explained the meaning behind the colors and the artistry woven into the fabric of your dress and hair ornaments. Thrawn listened with rapt attention, seeming to genuinely be interested in your every word. You couldn’t tell if it was simply politeness on his part, in a desire to be distracted from the endless chatter of political machinations around you. Yet as you spoke and he prompted you from time to time, you felt the tension between you slowly ease and drop into an easy companionship.

“Your planet has quite a rich history.” Thrawn said, inclining his head politely when you’d finished speaking. “My condolences on the passing of your late senator.”

Your lips pursed, lingering melancholia tugging at your heart. “She was the best of us.”

Thrawn was silent for a moment, his mouth turning slightly downward in thought. “You strike me as an intelligent and capable individual, you will do well.”

“What of you?” You asked the question that’d been burning in the back of your mind since bumping into him. “Where are you from? What brought you to serve the Empire?”

“A story, perhaps, for another time.” Thrawn said, giving you a smile to indicate he wasn’t offended by your prying.

“It’s quite unusual to see someone non-human to rise within the ranks of the Empire, and so quickly too.” You mused. “Though I am sure you’ve heard such a sentiment quite a lot.”

Thrawn nodded slowly. “Indeed, I have.”

You wanted to ask so many questions but got the sense he was not open to answering them.

“You are not fond of the Empire.” Thrawn said, it wasn’t a question, and it caught you off guard.

“I…whatever gave you that impression?” It was near impossible to keep the irony out of your voice. You clasped your hands behind your back, mirroring his posture, suddenly careful. Amidst the ease of your light banter, you’d forgotten just what Thrawn was and who he served.

Thrawn studied you silently for several seconds. “It is quite evident. Whenever you speak mention the Empire or look at the Officers in this very hall, the distaste is clear upon your visage.”

“You’ve been scrutinizing my ‘visage’ hm?” You asked coyly, deflecting.

“Indeed. Am I correct?”

You hesitated, your shoulders tensing as you looked around the room for a ready excuse to exit this suddenly uncomfortable encounter. You got the sense that it was no use lying to this Chiss man. You gave a terse nod. “Yes.”

“May I ask why?” Thrawn was unlike any Imperial you’d heretofore encountered. He had proven to be polite and respectful, even though you were a senator; a position that drew disdain and condescension from the majority of Palpatine’s servants. You felt like you could open up to Thrawn, which might have been his game all along, there was no real way of knowing.

The fact he would ask your reasons for disliking the Empire surprised you into answering. “There are aspects that I do not agree with, the utter abolishment of democracy being one of them.”

“It has not been abolished as of yet.” Thrawn intoned, lowering his soft voice so you could not be overheard. “The Senate remains, you are proof of this.”

“We are little more than puppets, extensions of Palpatine’s will. And the Senate, as it remains, is slowly being dissolved.”

Thrawn listened to your words, he didn’t argue back. Again, surprising you.

He waited, so you continued. “I don’t condone slavery or the rape of worlds for their resources, displacing millions of people from their homes.” Your words lapsed as you became dangerously close to speaking treason.

“I will not say the Empire is perfect.” Thrawn’s voice remained gentle, no condemnation coloring his words. “However, it is stronger than the Republic, more capable of protecting the Galaxy.”

“I won’t argue that the Republic was perfect.” You rubbed anxiously at your neck before folding your hands politely in front of you. “However a totalitarian regime that relies on fear to govern isn’t the answer.”

“Yes, I had heard rumor the senator from Naboo was quite vocal in her political stance.” Thrawn murmured, his hand found the small of your back causing you to jolt slightly. “Come, peruse the gallery with me.”

Intrigued and not wishing to draw more eyes than had been already, you allowed the Grand Admiral to gently guide you out of the crowded gala hall and into a more secluded marble corridor. Your footsteps echoed as you walked together in silence, Thrawn’s hand no longer at your back.

“After you, please.” Thrawn opened the glass door and bowed slightly as you passed.

You instantly noticed the plush carpet beneath your thin shoes and sighed in relief at the ease it gave your aching feet.

“Yes, a much more comfortable setting. One I quite prefer to political decadence.” Thrawn said behind you, and you turned to see him calmly observing a vivid oil painting framed by the door.

“You did mention your fondness for art.” You joined him and looked at the splash of color that made little sense to you.

“I am equally fond of truth.” Thrawn glanced sideways, you could feel the burning of those red eyes upon you like a weight before he shifted his attention back to the painting again. “What do you see upon this canvas?”

“A…lot of color all thrown together.” You said, mildly peeved, you folded your arms across your chest. “It’s quite an abstract piece.”

“Indeed.” Thrawn turned to face you more fully, causing you to step back on instinct. “To me it describes chaos, anger perhaps, a purposeful lack of care to hide the true meaning beneath.”

“You know…” You remained poised and standing straight, your shoulders back as you inclined your chin to look up at him. “It is very impressive what you can sense from someone’s art, or what they’ve named as art. However, I will remind you that art is up to the viewer’s interpretation. You cannot draw concrete conclusions from art the way you can from the sciences.”

A small smile tugged the corner of Thrawn’s mouth, it gave a self-satisfied impression. As if you’d said exactly what he’d expected. “Very astute, senator Erys. And almost entirely correct. However, even with art, there are certain patterns that become predictable as one studies the nature of sentient beings, particularly humans.”

You arched a brow. “Such as what, may I ask?”

“Emotion.” Thrawn said, leveling his glowing gaze at you. “I would suggest art is always produced by the emotion of its creator. That is why, to understand an adversary or an ally one must study all aspects of their culture, including their art.”

“Which am I, adversary or ally?” You asked, unable to help yourself, even as your hands clenched briefly.

Thrawn smiled and shook his head slightly. “I do not yet know, senator.” His smile faded as he lent down more into your space. “There are many rumors surrounding you, however I know firsthand how such gossip can be entirely inaccurate. For this reason, I am giving you one opportunity to tell me the truth.”

“The truth?” Your heart dropped like a stone; your hands became clammy as you realized how you’d walked right into his trap. The tilt of his head indicated he’d read and recognized all your reactions as the dread coiled within you.

“About yourself, and the organizations you are affiliated with.” Thrawn said softly, his every muscle holding very still, like a spider in its web. “Now, shall we start from the beginning?”

[vibratingskull]

A x reader and OC community for Thrawn's fandom ❤️

No shipping

No drama

Only wholesomeness

If you love anything Chiss you are welcome ❤️

Hit me up or @vaarians to enter

[loge2718]

This is an MV type edit of a short comic that I made 👇

And I wrote a Thrawn x reader fanfic for it (x)

[cambion-companion]

Crystalline Moments Part 1/2(SFW)

Hi!! It's been too long since I wrote a reader x Thrawn drabble. I just...adore him. Obviously, and the announcement for the new comics really just stoked the fire. Enjoy some rainy evening with Thrawn reading to you next to the fireplace, before things get a little heated. Listen, I don't control these things, just write them down LOL Hence there will be a NSFW part 2.

Word count: 850

THRAWN X READER | Drabble

You leaned your head against Thrawn’s chest, listening to the rain thrumming against the roof.  Your legs rested across his lap, his arm snugly holding them against his warm body as he read to you.  His voice was soft, almost hypnotic, lulling your mind into a comfortable haze.  

“My dear, are you still paying attention?”  Thrawn squeezed your calf gently, coaxing you to open your eyes again.

“Hmm?”  You stifled a yawn behind the back of your hand and gave him a sleepy smile. “Yes, of course.  Our protagonist was just writing a letter about his current dire circumstances.”

Thrawn gave you a tender smile, his eyes glowing soft as embers of the fireplace. “Almost.”  His smile turned a bit teasing. “If my cadence is too much to withstand, we may continue this at a later time.”  He propped the book open upon your knee to demonstrate; his long fingers then lacing with yours and bringing the back of your hand to his lips in a chaste kiss.

You hummed softly in pleasure, your eyes lidding slightly as he continued placing soft kisses to each of your knuckles. “Perhaps I will brew us some tea?”

“And deprive me of your warmth, my darling?”  Thrawn’s cinder eyes wandered over your blanket-swaddled form, he carefully set the book aside and tugged your body closer until you almost sat on his thigh.

You couldn’t suppress the giggle his sudden movement elicited.  You leaned forward and touched the tip of your nose against his, closing your eyes when he reciprocated and pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you, and I love this time we can steal together.”

The rain above began to thrum with a steadier beat, intermingling with the sound of your breaths as they deepened and synchronized. You pressed your lips to his, savoring the familiar comfort of having Thrawn in your arms.  

Thrawn made a pleased sound deep in his throat and his fingers tangled in your hair as he leant into the embrace. When the two of you pulled apart slightly, he admired the red glow from his eyes lighting your cheeks softly.

“I love you.”  You whispered; the words almost lost amidst the crackle of the dying fire.

“As I do you.” Thrawn replied without hesitation, the admission came so easy to him now, so naturally.

“Now, I’m going to make us something hot to drink.”  You gave him a more playful kiss this time, brief but scorching. “And then you can read more to me.”

Thrawn almost groaned in protest as you withdrew and stood with a slight sway before regaining your balance in the dimly lit room. You gave him a sly grin and held out your hand. “Unless of course you wish to join me in the kitchen.”

“I would never refuse you, my beloved.” Thrawn tilted his head as he read the slightly wanton expression on your face, a slow smile tugging his lips. He took your proffered hand and stood as well, noticing how your lips parted slightly and your pupils dilated as his height towered over your smaller form.  “After all, brewing tea is a difficult task.”  

“Hmm, yes.”  You agreed, leading the way through the darkened hallway. “I certainly require my master tactician’s help in this endeavor.”

You’d barely begun the pretense of retrieving the boiling kettle and sugar from the cupboards before Thrawn moved up behind you. His lips began pressing gentle kisses to the skin of your neck.  Your hands faltered slightly in response, fumbling the packet of tea you’d opened. A small gasping laugh left your parted lips as Thrawn’s hands tickled along your sides before he firmly pulled your body back against him.

“Thrawn.”  You said his name, almost pleading.

You pressed instinctively back against him, and his teeth scraped against your neck in response, his strong hands tightening their grip on your hips.  A small hiss left his mouth, sending chills of anticipation down your spine. “Continue with your task.”  He spoke softly into your ear before running his tongue along it, kissing your earlobe. “Don’t allow me to distract you, my love.  You were so determined to make us tea.”

“I’m not sure if I can remember how.”  

Thrawn laughed softly in response, the deliciously rare sound almost causing you to whimper.  

In a fluid motion he swept aside your hair and began kissing and biting the nape of your neck. “Continue.”  He murmured, following your movement as you bent over the counter slightly, keeping his body flush to yours.

Your hands shook slightly as you continued unpacking your tea assortment, the floral and herbal notes wafting from the paper pouch. You had trouble filling the kettle with water as Thrawn decided then was the time to begin lifting pushing his hands under your shirt and caressing the sensitive skin at your waist.

You sighed in pleasure and took a moment to straighten up and lean against him, turning your head to give him a searing kiss. This was going to be a delightful night.

[orobaxis]

i've met a stranger today

thrawn x reader a/n: angst, meeting thrawn again…for the first time. no thoughts in my head, only thrawn.

i tracked down the artist (i think!) credits to @morri-gilmour

-

you met a stranger today. donned with imperial uniform you have not seen in over a decade, the tunic worn and frayed, but so obviously handled with care. even after all these years, the chimaera was still a sight to behold: massive, magnificent, magnanimous. just like the grand admiral who governed it. the stormtroopers around you all looked formidable, despite the cracks, tears, and burns. the gold inlaid into their armor was a symbol of their remaking and their strength. the sound of a plate crashing to the floor took you back to a memory you forgot you had.

the knock on your door startled you and your grip on the plate and it cracked into pieces by your feet. you were upset, you remember, but his hands were slow and deliberate as he picked up the pieces. "thrawn, no," you told him, kneeling beside him to help him clean up, "you'll get hurt. i'll sweep it away. i'm sorry, you just startled me." outside of his uniform, and in the comfort of your home, he looked a lot more relaxed. his hair was just starting to grow, and you enjoyed running your hands through them. "it's quite alright," once again, it took something very serious to upset him, but you still felt bad, "we don't have to throw it. we can mend it instead, it's still useful." he gestured to the large pieces, trying to piece them together. "do you remember the potteries in the museum we went to?" with your nod, he continued, "they were broken, and repaired by mending the breakage with lacquered gold. those who practice that art believe and accept the idea of transience and imperfection." "and that idea that nothing lasts forever," you added, remembering what the curator told you.

you and your husband spent the remaining time you had mending it, and you had bitterly thought then that without him, a broken piece would never be mended again.

-

the soldiers chant his name. the sound of it so familiar. because that was the name you would chant too, in the dark of the night, to anyone who would listen. you didn't really know what you prayed for. maybe to see him again? or maybe you wished none of this ever happened. until finally, before you, stood grand admiral thrawn. the man you had been searching for for more than a decade. and yet.

-

and yet it's also not him.

-

you were supposed to spend your life together. how did it turn out like this? your life passed by just wondering what it would have been like if he hadn't disappeared. you mourn the life you could have had.

it should have been with him.

-

you met a stranger today. but it's weird. because you knew him very well. all of his names, personality, favourites, secrets, goals and ambitions. the things he loved to do,

and his smile that was once shared with you.

-

when thrawn finally turned to you, you saw it. the crack between the inlaid gold. his mouth opened, the only break in his stoic expression. he recognized you. and he was probably thinking that he met a stranger today too.

[al-astakbar]

Thrawn Alphabet

Pairing: Thrawn x Fem!Reader (no she/her pronouns used) Word Count: 3.8k Rating: Explicit Content warnings: sexual content (M/F anal, oral, PIV), uniform kink, toys, bondage, dom/sub undertones; no Y/N

posted on ao3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) 

Every time you’re with Thrawn, from the very first to months and years after you first met, he’ll ignore his comm chime three times, but never more than a fourth. He is intent on you, murmuring to you in Cheunh. If he has just fucked you over his desk, he’ll help you stand, carry you through to the bedroom. If he’s just had you on the bed, he lets you collapse, a shuddering, oversensitized mess, and he stays just long enough to see that you’re alright. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

The question leaves him silent at first. He doesn’t think of you or himself that way, as separate parts of a whole. But eventually, on a warm, sunny afternoon at an outdoor art market, he answers. “Your eyes,” he says. He’s examining an unusual piece, and doesn’t look at you at all. 

“What?”

“My favorite part of you. Your eyes.” They are beautiful, he tells you thoughtfully, the way the light caught them just now, though he most admires their intensity when you are thinking hard about your next move in dejarik, or challenging his reasoning. 

Not a day later, his answer is different. He has you bent over his desk, and he tells you your ass is the most perfect one he’s ever seen. Perfect for grabbing, perfect for spanking, perfect for fucking. 

Another time, on your knees with his cock in your mouth-- “your lips are particularly lovely.” He smirks down at you, red eyes glowing. 

The elegant curve of your back, one evening. The next, your hands, small and soft in his as he rubs the aches out of them. Your legs, when they’re wrapped around his waist or he’s just watched you walk across the room naked. Your neck, which he likes to adorn with finely crafted jewelry. Your breasts, so sensitive as your arch to his touch. 

And of course… “in Cheunh we call it k’tusah,” he says, before licking a broad stripe up your slit. His deft fingers spread your folds, his tongue finds the very center of your need and you know he won’t relent until he’s tasted his fill of your pleasure.

**C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) ***CW!!! Anal sex***

Thrawn cums a lot. Like, a lot, and he likes pumping your cunt and ass and mouth over-full of his cum. Likes watching it drip down your legs and chin and neck. Sometimes he’ll spill in your mouth and forbid you from swallowing. Just keep it there for me, pet, let me see-- his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip. He knows you like these games, and if he’s in a mood he’ll cum in your ass and plug it. For you to think of him, he tells you. Throughout your day, and every little thing you do, you’ll feel his cum and the plug barely holding it in, and you’ll think of that morning when he’d reamed your tight little hole. These are the only times he talks like that. An obscene, visceral shock to hear in his cool modulated voice. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Thrawn feels more comfortable in a military uniform than he does naked. He has no shame or hangups about his body, in fact he likes the way he looks, but he’s been wearing a uniform for so long, it’s part of him. It’s something he takes a quiet pride in. Pristine white, no wrinkles, trouser creases always sharp, boots shiny. Often, he’ll have you stripped bare while he never even unfastens his collar. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Despite his age and accomplishments, he’s not particularly experienced. Only a few partners, and not all were satisfying encounters.  Being who he is, though, he did learn from them, and what he doesn’t know, he is able to observe and learn quickly. He has no embarrassment admitting he doesn’t know something, and will readily ask for help or guidance.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Something that Thrawn has come to understand about himself, as he has grown older and made his way through the galaxy, is that he enjoys holding power and control. Command is natural to him, and he likes a partner who complements that aspect. If it’s up to him (and it usually is) he’ll put you on your knees, or over his desk, even prone on your belly, under him. He can get deep this way, the way he knows you want it, he’ll have his hands on your waist, or else one gently but firmly grabbing your hair and when he’s close to cumming, he’ll lean over you, chest flush to your back, holding you close as he pounds into you. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

You can imagine trying to joke around and be silly with him, during an intimate moment or otherwise, would not go over well. That’s not to say Thrawn doesn’t have a sense of humor. He does, but it’s very dry, and during a moment alone, he’s going to be focused only on you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

In general Thrawn is very well groomed. His hair is always slicked back, showing his distinguished widow’s peak. Chiss typically don’t have much body hair and Thrawn is no exception. He has no hair on his chest, back, arms, underarms, and very little on his legs. Only around his pubic area, and it is an unusual texture (to humans), rather straight and smooth. He is equally fascinated by your hair, especially the texture, and often takes an extra moment just to pet you, trailing his fingers between your legs and giving a knowing smile at your soft breaths of anticipation. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Intimacy, and other people’s need for it, takes him a long time to understand. He’s not unromantic. But he shows it in different ways. He learns to like kissing you. Kissing, as far as you can gather, is not foreign to the Chiss, only to to Thrawn. 

The first time he kisses you properly is right after the first time you disagree with him. You point out a flaw in his reasoning— he doesn’t have all the information— and stand your ground when he questions you. Your emotion is high; Thrawn, shoulders square and hands clasped behind his back, is glacially calm. You raise your chin in defiance and then, so fast, he has you pinned, dipping his head, meeting your lips. There is intensity and focus in everything Thrawn does. 

He brings his hand to the back of your neck. His lips light on yours, exchanging breath. When you respond, pressing your body tight against his, desperate for more, he pulls you closer, deeper. His mouth hot and lush, as if he’s suddenly realized he needs this too. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Spending his whole life in the military-- first the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet and then the Galactic Imperial Navy-- Thrawn has been used to having little to no privacy, let alone time, for personal indulgences.  

For many years, he considers sexual release just another physical need, like food and sleep. He does it when he has to, rushed and furtive in the fresher or under the covers in his rack. Even when he gets his own command, and by the time he is given another command in his second career— the Thunder Wasp— the habit is so ingrained in him. He does it alone, fast, pumping his cock hard. 

But then, after you’ve known him for a while, you ask once to watch him. It seems a natural question. He is bemused, but assents. He goes slow, teasing you with it, has you restrained, wet and needy. It is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. He’d never take this much time if he were alone. He undoes the fastening strip on his uniform, lets his jacket hang open. Pants, too. His normally sleek hair is mussed. Fucking slowly into his hand, his eyes don’t leave yours. His breath comes out in small puffs in the cold air of his quarters. You have to savor the sight of him like this, as it is rare. Thrawn is not one to forget himself, yet here he is in front of you, and he is gloriously disheveled. He tenses, long fingers squeezing his thick length as his movement stalls. A string of words in Cheunh, and your name, tumble from his lips in a ragged moan. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Thrawn has an artist’s eye, but he does not create. He sees beauty the way an artist would: in the mundane, bizarre, and skillfully-made. Tattoos and scars fascinate him. He spends hours and idle moments tracing over your skin, asking you about them in a way that always seems like he already knows your answers. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Thrawn is a very private person --it takes having known him for six months for him to divulge the significance of his full name to you-- and this trait includes places he feels comfortable having sex. Never in public. Despite his well known disregard for rules and regulations, Thrawn never neglects military decorum, and that includes no open displays of affection. (Try to hold Thrawn’s hand, see what happens.) He prefers somewhere quiet, anonymous, and free of distractions. Ideally, his office, surrounded by his art. But, he is not one to deny himself, whether at some posh hotel on the Coruscant social circuit, or in the passageways of the Chimaera— he will pull you aside, discretely. Up to his room, or office, even a supply closet, as long as the door locks. Then, swift and direct, he’ll be on you, pulling at your collar to mouth at your neck and press urgent, hot kisses to your breasts. No bed, no problem. He’ll have you against a wall or on a counter. He’ll ruck up your dress, lift you by your ass and thighs, and thrust up into you, his usually cool voice rough with lust. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)//alternate prompt: Massages? (Yes/no?)

Art, of course, and the thrill of commanding a battle, especially one where he had to take big risks. On the bridge of the Chimaera, as the dust clears, he’ll turn from the forward viewport, resplendent in his uniform, hands clasped behind his back. His red eyes always seem to glow brighter after a victory like this. His crew are in awe of him. His eyes meet yours for a mere second, and you know what he wants. As he strides down the command walkway, you fall in step behind him, heart racing with anticipation as you follow him to his office.

Massages are rare. They are an unknown concept for Chiss, and Thrawn does not like them. He will do it for you if asked, though. You pad over to him in the evenings, when he is working, or studying art, and quietly hold out your hands. Sore from needlecraft, or sketching, and he loves to observe you as you work. He never complains, never refuses. He puts down whatever he’s doing and massages your hands, arms and shoulders. Sometimes you talk about what you were working on, or he does, speaking quietly about art and tactics and switching back and forth mid-sentence between Cheunh and Basic. You start to learn, bit by bit, though he makes no active effort to teach you. The night you come to him, hold out your hands and say ‘please’ in Cheunh earns the first genuine smile you see from him. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He ultimately most enjoys a partner who he perceives to be his equal, so someone incompetent or with no intellectual curiosity is a turn off. While he is game to experiment, he won’t introduce anything new without talking about it first. And despite his reputation as an Imperial Warlord, he has no appetite for anything that will really hurt you, nor any desire to override your free will. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Make no mistake, Thrawn is excellent at eating pussy. He is uncommonly perceptive and the very first time he goes down on you, he figures out what you like within seconds. He likes giving you pleasure on his terms. With his tongue on your clit, he owns you. 

As for receiving… at first, sucking his cock is a privilege, and one you are desperate to earn. He puts you on a leash, tied down, and lets you strain to even get a taste of his cock. Gradually, he trains you, shows you how to take him fully in your mouth and down your throat. On days that he’s very busy, he keeps you by his desk, where you kneel patiently. Sitting in his executive chair, he’ll spread his legs, still reading on his datapad and not bothering to look at you, undo his trousers, push the fabric down to free his hard cock. “Balls first,” he orders absently. You’ll crawl in, suck and lick them until he tells you to switch. You take his thick, heavy cock in your mouth and do as he says: “keep it warm for me.”

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Perhaps surprisingly, Thrawn is quite sensual. He tends not to be overly rough, and prefers to take things slow if he has the time, though he usually doesn’t. Even when he is fast and rough, he is quite attentive, sliding a hand between your legs, wanting to feel you cum around his cock before he’s finished. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s all for a quickie. Grand Admirals don’t have a lot of free time. But the first time you use the word he doesn’t understand it. 

“Quickie?” He repeats coolly, hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t know this word. Explain what you mean.”

“Oh! Uh, well, it’s just having sex real quick. Like, a fast one, not taking too much time.”

“I see,” Thrawn says, “and you would like to engage in a quickie with me?”

“You seemed really busy, I thought it would be more convenient.”

“Very well. In the interest of efficiency and convenience…”  He turns, gesturing to his desk. “I assume this will be sufficient?”

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Thrawn truly enjoys and cares about giving you pleasure. So he’ll try almost anything you ask for. Spanking, restraints, a collar. He likes taking risks and experimenting if it gives him more insight into what you like. And it doesn’t take him long to start predicting what you’ll want. Once, he has you wear a rope harness under your clothes for a day. He works the elaborate design himself, makes sure a string of knots pass right between your legs, pressing on your clit every time you make the slightest movement. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)//alternate prompt: Sexts (Yes? No? Pictures?)

Thrawn’s stamina is yet another mystery potentially solved if he would ever give you straight answers about his species, but he doesn’t. He can cum repeatedly. Like, the very first time you’re together, he fucks you and cums and when you move to get up he tells you, “stay. We’re not done.” His cock is still hard, he pushes back into your oversensitized, swollen hole, you can feel how he displaces his own cum, makes it run down your legs as he fucks you again, and a third time. 

Yes to sexts. He never even questions it as a misuse of Imperial resources. And the more artistically done your pictures are, the better. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

A few, that he uses on you. None on himself. Plugs, ropes, a collar and leash. Whatever you like, whatever you ask for, he will get it. He treats it like he does his art hobby, finds exquisite, unique pieces, most of which cannot be displayed in his office. Silken spun rope to tie you with. Gleaming toys, plugs, the bases decorated with finely wrought gemwork. Each time before he uses one on you, he presents it for you to kiss. You must show the proper reverence. He always watches intently, with a peculiar gleam in his glowing red eyes. You ask him once, while he is winding the rope in elaborate patterns across your body, if he has a favorite, and he laughs softly. “My favorite toy? You, of course.”

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The Chiss do not make idle boasts or promises. Every tease, every lingering touch, you know Thrawn will pay it off. And he does love teasing you, sometimes over the course of days or weeks. Denying your climax, seeing how desperate he can make you. It’s a game to him, tonguing and sucking your clit as you get wetter and wetter, almost there, until he decides you’ve had enough for now. He’ll do it again an hour later. Tell you to stay after a meeting in which he has watched you squirm the whole time while he calmly lays out battle plans. He has you show him your slick pussy right there in the conference room after everyone else has left. Lift the front of your skirt. Spread the lips for him with your fingers. “Hold yourself open for me, pet, yes, just like that.” He trails one finger through your folds, much too slow. Circles your clit. He responds to your frustrated sounds with a smile, or a quiet, low ‘hmm’. Patience, he reminds you when you get mouthy. You are here for his amusement. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Thrawn has a reputation for being even-tempered, verging on soft-spoken. You’ve heard him come close to yelling once. Intimately, he’s mostly quiet-- not to say he isn’t expressive, but he is not loud. He gives low, breathy moans when he’s fucking you, small gasps and whispered Cheunh when he feels you cumming on his cock and his release is close. Occasionally, when his blood is up, when he is on edge from dealing with incompetent subordinates, you’ll hear a growl. An almost feral sound, deep in his chest as he puts you where he wants you and tears off your clothes. Be a good pet now, he says. His normally smooth voice is ragged with need. I have no patience for your bratting today, euhn in’a.  

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

In the early days of your acquaintance with Thrawn, even before he levels his glowing red eyes at you and asks how long you’ve been fantasizing about fucking him…  one of the first things you notice about him, that sets your mind spinning with possibility, is how he smells. You pick up the scent of starch from his perfectly pressed uniform as he leans over your shoulder, pointing at something on a datapad. He smells of wool and brass polish and leather.

And, when you get closer, something else. Something close to human, familiar, but not quite the same. It is crisp and wintry, like morning in a cold forest, or the thin, pure air you can breathe on the highest balconies of Coruscant skyscrapers, close to the space-atmosphere barrier. 

It quickly becomes a comfort for you, and the times he is gone, you wrap yourself in his spare uniform coat. Exacting as he is, when he returns he never seems to mind finding you in it. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

The fact that he is all blue never ceases to be novel. The sight of Thrawn in anything less than his full dress whites is enough to make your breath catch. When he shrugs out of his coat, exposing his broad, sculpted shoulders, you hear your pulse in your ears. The sight of him sparring against droids in a black tank top and his white uniform jodhpurs and black jackboots is an image immediately seared into your mind. It’s supplanted only by the first time you see him fully naked. He walks out of the fresher dripping wet, cross with you about… something or other. Maybe leaving your clothes all over the floor, but it seems your brain has short circuited. He is slim and tall-- so tall-- and strong and perfectly formed. And he is nonchalant about it. His cock and balls, which you’ve seen and felt and tasted before, are newly fascinating, hanging thick and heavy and swinging a bit when he walks. You swallow thickly. As good as he looks in the uniform, it hides how beautiful he really is. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not particularly high, usually. It seems to come in waves, almost like he’s on a cycle, but when you’ve asked if the Chiss have mating cycles he denies it. Every so often, though, he gets a certain gleam in his glowing red eyes. You learn to recognize it, and what it portends. It means he makes excuses to his senior staff and the crew, about why he suddenly cancels meetings. It means he’s suddenly insatiable, fucking you three, four, five times in a row, and doing it again a few hours later. It means he sucks bruising kisses onto your neck and thighs and breasts, and it means he growls his pleasure and forgets for a moment that you don’t understand Cheunh. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Thrawn almost never sleeps, it seems to you. A quirk of his, something about his brilliant mind that just won’t shut off, plus Chiss biology. But the rare times he does fuck you in an actual bed, he’ll stay, curling his body around yours, stroking your hair. He runs hot and the heat will lull you to sleep. He likes feeling your breathing begin to even out and slow and deepen, likes feeling you relaxed and satisfied in his arms. When he’s sure he won’t wake you, he gets up, pulling more blankets over you, and presses a quiet kiss to your forehead and murmurs something-- always the same phrase-- in Cheunh. 

[m-feline]

A picture of Thrawn and Reader(disguised as Chiss) from my fic "Road that leads to Ascendancy"

[soarchissticallydone]

Daughter of the Empire: 1/?

(So when I said I was going to post this "later today," let's take this in the galactic time sense where on some planet somewhere, a day lasts four or five Earth days. Got it? Great.)

This is in second-person POV. because I don't write that very often and it's fun, in my opinion. It's kind of long, but I got very excited and I hope I can keep this energy up. To be honest, I have no idea where and when in canon this takes place. Any glaring errors in continuity or canon are my own.

Thanks to @holocene-sims and @vibratingskull for their advice and encouragement in posting this story! I could not have done it without you.

Recommended music: Taita Inty, by Yma Sumac.

Previous || Next

Sit back, relax, watch the house lights dim and the curtains rise...

The Galaxies Opera House was putting on a production of “Legends of the Yavinian Yungas,” and you had been dying to see it. Every single attempt thus far in the run had failed. You had gotten sick after the rush to get a new exhibit up and running (too sick to even contemplate the idea of getting up and dressed, really). Then your aural prostheses had broken and had to be replaced, and so you had skipped the next few showings until they were repaired. (Why go if you couldn’t hear the show clearly? You may have known it by heart by now, but it was an experience to be enjoyed in full!)  And then, tonight, when you had made plans and had your third-nicest outfit steamed and ready to go, your friends had been unable to attend due to sudden conflicts. 

You had almost despaired of being able to see it before it closed, to be replaced by a traditional Lothal dance ensemble (which was perfectly fine and entertaining, but not your favorite opera since you were old enough to sit with your mother in the family box on Yavin Thirteen). 

Fortunately, you were able to wheedle your siblings into accompanying you to the opera tonight; you could have gone alone, but you were somewhat self-conscious about going to performances alone, and, you justified to yourself, you hadn’t seen either of them for weeks due to conflicting schedules. It was so rare that the three of you were on the same planet at the same time; you had put on the full ‘youngest sibling charm offensive,’ as Laanth sarcastically put it, and this time, it had worked. Of course, Pyallala had insisted that she take you shopping beforehand, on your credit, and Laanth had insisted that you buy them both dinner afterward, but it was a small price to pay. (Even if your bank account had already sent you an alert about suspicious purchases.)

“The Imperial Box?” you hiss to Laanth as the turbolift opens onto the mezzanine, with Praetorian guards and stormtroopers flanking the entrance. “Aren’t we meant to be keeping a low profile?”

(Your father had, in one of his paranoid moods, temporarily barred you all from the Imperial Box after Pyallala’s brother-in-law had been kidnapped for ransom by Rebel-aligned pirates a few months ago. Even with the feeble fig leaf of an excuse that you were his nephews and nieces, which the public may or may not have believed, blood relatives of the Galactic Emperor were obviously a security risk.)

“The Senatorial section doesn’t have as good of a view,” Pyallala pouts. “And I’m not wasting the credits you spent on this headdress to hide it from the rest of the audience.” She pats the headdress with one well-manicured hand, to emphasize it, and it wobbles slightly on top of her head. (Even though you saw her stick it with half a dozen hatpins and her aesthetics droid practically smothered you all with hairspray before you got in the speeder to keep it in place.) 

“I can’t believe that cost a thousand credits,” you grouse. “It’s the ugliest kriffing thing I’ve ever seen!” It’s certainly one of the ugliest purchases you’ve made in your life, even counting the phase where you wore traditional Yavinian ponchos, with their rather bright color combinations by Coruscanti taste, almost exclusively. And there are plenty of outré, avant-garde, culturally-significant-but-still-strange-looking, or just plain bizarre hats, headdresses, confections of tulle and transparisteel, and wearable sculpts in the crowd to compare Pyallala’s new acquisition to. 

The shape itself is reminiscent of a napkin in a glass at a gala; the colors mimic dazzle camouflage from some brainchild of the Imperial Navy’s latest strategic design; and worst of all, it is at least a third of a meter tall and a third of a meter wide, ready to launch off into the world with the slightest provocation. You wonder what would happen if you pushed her off the mezzanine–would it turn into a parachute? (Not that you’d do such a thing, of course, but stars, the temptation is there. You try to ignore the voice in your head that sounds like your father’s.)

“It’s a brand new Bila Tondo creation. Who cares if it’s ugly? I want everyone to know I’m here to enjoy myself. We’re going in the Imperial Box.”

“You’re exactly right, sis,” Laanth said; as always, you had been outmanned, outflanked, and outgunned by your siblings. The perils of being the youngest. “Come on, Ynirrés. Live a little.” 

“I’m telling him it was your idea if he finds out,” you sniff, clutching the amplification cables for your aural prostheses you’d picked up at the box office a little tighter, as if they might provide a shield. (You hope he doesn’t find out. Your father’s moods, always fickle, have been worse over the past few years, usually, but not always, in conjunction with some new setback against the rebellions, or some perceived threat to his control. And while you are usually not the target of his rages, you’ve seen enough of them to know that you don’t even want to be in the same star cluster when his temper rises.)

“Nobody’s going to find out if you shut your mouth and relax,” Laanth says as you all step out. 

“Miss Zerbelo, Mr. Thetinnós, Mrs. Se’aa’ng.” The protocol droid permanently stationed just outside the turbolift nods to each of you in turn. “Passes, please.”

An hour and a half (and one and a half complimentary swirlydips) later, you’ve almost forgotten your earlier anxiety. You hate to admit it–Pyallala was right. The view is spectacular here. It’s as if you’re right on top of the stage. The mezzo soprano–one of your favorites, the Twi’Lek Nomi Vay, fresh off her tour of the Outer Rim–has just finished her recitative on the creation of the orichalc treasure; you settle more comfortably in your seat, eagerly watching and hearing the story unfold. It’s a rare treat to see the Yungas Cycle performed fully. The condensed version is more popular, especially out of Yavinian space. (And with the rebel outbreaks on Yavin Four, you were worried, too, that the performance would be abruptly cancelled due to pressure from the Emperor, with his pride as sensitive as it is.) 

“Oh, this got more interesting,” Laanth says, interrupting your concentration on the familiar music and story.  You turn to look at him, irritatedly unhooking the amplification cables from your aural prostheses, and he leans forward conspiratorially. 

“That alien admiral’s in the Navy box,” he says, his voice, and the music, slightly distorted as your prostheses adjust to ambient sound. He re-emphasizes this with a few hurried signs, rolling his eyes a little as you catch up to what was said. In a fit of childish anger, you stick your tongue out at him.

Aside from diplomats, you almost never saw a non-human at the Opera. And the diplomats, of course, had their own boxes scattered throughout; they’d never be allowed to sit with the Navy higher-ups. Even in the Empire, it wasn’t seemly, though the Jedi had apparently gone as both guest and bodyguard to some patrons before and during the Clone Wars. (You were too young to really attend the opera on Coruscant before Ascension Day all those years ago, with the exception of children’s matinees and other special events, and when you had gone, you were more focused on the costumes and the stagecraft than on the jockeying for power that went into getting a superiorly located box.) The prospect of seeing the one non-human allowed to ascend this far in the Naval hierarchy intrigues you.

Fortunately, there’s a dance solo that allows you a little cover for spying on the other audience members (as if the Imperial Opera isn’t already a rarefied version of a Shaum Hii cattle market for those who would rather chase and be chased than watch the performances). The alien–tall, blue-skinned, in a starched and polished dress uniform–is intently watching the dancers and singers as they find their marks for the ‘Dance of the Trogons.’ You tell yourself you’ll spend a few more credits and buy the recording of the performance to make up for missing the dance in full. What’s another fraud alert on top of the rest?

“What is he, a Pantoran?” you ask, snatching your sister’s lorgnette from her hands to get a better glimpse of the strange warrior. With a quick spin of the dials, you’re able to get a closer view of his face, so strangely and strongly contoured. There’s something about the gleam of his red eyes that fascinates you. They really do gleam–not brightly enough to be a distraction to the others in the box, or the performers, but enough to send a strange shiver down your spine. You’re reminded of a nymy-cat in the night, though their eyes are green. 

“No! I heard he’s…well, whatever he is, he’s not a Pantoran,” Pyallala says, looking at her program. “Good, the first intermission is after this solo; I really need another drink. Apparently they found him in a shipping crate in Wild Space! And now he’s a Grand Admiral. Can you believe that?”

Laanth rolls his eyes. “And who told you that? Someone in your sabacc circle? The same one who told you that it wasn’t spice if you smoked it? They didn’t find him in a shipping crate, they found him crashed on an asteroid!”

“That was one time,” Pyallala hisses, forgetting her argument with your brother in favor of one that had been rehashed since General Skywalker was still alive, if not earlier. “Do you have to be so loud?”

“Do you think anyone cares?” he says, and the two of them start the familiar accusations again. You, of course, tune them out as best you can. One of the benefits of being deaf, and having aural prostheses, is the ability to simply…turn off whatever displeases you, but not even the most sophisticated tech lets you mute a conversation that is happening in front of your face without blocking the rest of the world out. 

Your free hand runs over the amplification cables longingly–how badly you want to go back to the music. Your target seems enraptured, as much as you can tell, by the spectacle, and your heart leaps a little–perhaps he enjoys the Yungas Cycle too, and perhaps you might…make a friend. One that wasn’t one of your coworkers. Wasn’t Pyallala always not-so-jokingly scolding you about your lack of prospects? What better prospect could there be than…

“A Grand Admiral,” you say, forgetting for a moment that you shouldn’t be thinking out loud, and that it’s the height of rudeness to keep your lorgnette on someone for longer than necessary. “An alien Grand Admiral! He must be very talented.”

“Uh-oh, sounds like Niri has a little crush,” Pyallala jokes, seizing her chance to deflect the sibling mockery onto you. “Or do his epaulets have you dazzled? Do we need to keep you on a leash, before you go over the balcony again?” You wince at the memories of that particular garden party, before you had learned that swirlypops aren’t always a teetotal drink, and, conveniently,  just prior to learning that alcohol affects your particular sense of balance for the worse. How embarrassing that was. 

“I know Commodore Voskos,” Laanth says, completely ignoring your sister, despite the low-hanging fruit of “Mock Baby Sister Together,” much to your relief. “We’re supposed to play ringers together tomorrow. At intermission, I’m going to see if we can be introduced to this Wild Space freak. I’m sure he knows whether he was found in a shipping crate.”

“No, we don’t need to–” you say.

“Yes, we do!” Laanth says. “I’m right, Pyallala’s wrong, and you’ve also been openly staring at him for the past five minutes. It’d be ruder to pretend we haven’t seen him, with you playing holo safari.”

“I hate you both,” you say, sinking further into your seat as you hand the lorgnette back to Pyallala. “I should have come here by myself.”

[eyes-of-the-rave]

some art i did for @agenteliix of thrawn & her oc eliix! it was for her birthday in the fall and then i didn't finish it until march (whoops), but i'm still pretty happy with how it turned out!

detail shots under the cut

[readinglistfics]

no one:

thrawn:

[ceapa-mica]

My take on Thrawn with a plus size! s/o:

- Ok this man LOVES your body! To him it's the most precious piece of art he's ever laid eyes on. Your cellulite and every single stretchmark of yours are a part of it. He appreciates it all - and he makes sure to show his appreciation whenever he can, both verbally and physically.

- If you're insecure about your looks, he shows you art of cultures where plus size is considered a beauty standard.

- He never misses an opportunity to tell you how beautiful you are.

- Should anyone ridicule you for your weight, or for basically any reason, rest assured that Thrawn will take care of it. Any bully will be dealt with and you will never see them again. He's a Grand Admiral after all.

Feel free to add more to this headcanon! ❤️

[vibratingskull]

Tasty treat

Art by the magnificient @pigonart

You are the tastiest, most delicious treat Thrawn could ever ask for and he intends to savor you all night long!

[loge2718]

POV: You fell in love with Thrawn

Song: Take Me Back To Eden by Sleep Token

Another self-indulgent art because I am currently obsessed with him ✨✨✨

[cambion-companion]

Painted in You

Art shenanigans plus a little too much wine for the reader leads to a rare moment of romantic cheesiness with our favorite Chiss (or mine at least).

Thrawn x reader drabble | established relationship | fluff | little steamy towards the end

You giggled a little, the red and yellow paint surely had gotten in your hair by now. You held your wine as steadily as you could while spreading the myriad of colors out with your hands. Your minimal white clothes were already completely saturated with color both fresh and dried from previous finger painting sessions. The protective film crinkled a little as you moved back to admire your messy, but beautiful, work. The large canvas before you was almost done in all of its many chaotically vibrant hues.

"I guessed I'd find you here."

The smooth cadence of Thrawn's voice behind you made you jump a little and you turned with excitement to greet him. "I'm glad you did!" You gestured to your work. "What do you think? Would you be able to deduce how to defeat me in battle from this?"

Thrawn looked over your shoulder to the colorful canvas, lingering with his tall frame against the doorway. A small smile curved his lips as he tilted his head, considering. "Only if said battle had strict cleanliness guidelines."

You laughed brightly and his smile grew at the sound.

"You should join me! It's quite relaxing, gets rid of stress." You paused, glancing over his immaculate uniform pointedly. "Leave that outside though."

"Do I appear stressed?" Thrawn asked but began removing his outer uniform anyway until he was down to his black training clothes.

"You never appear to have much emotion...but I know better by now." You spoke softly as he approached you, his movements calculated and purposeful as ever as he took your paint-stained hand and placed a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist.

"Do you indeed?"

"Mhm." You gave a little sound of contented happiness at the feeling of his warm skin beneath your fingers as you touched Thrawn's face. A streak of red paint smudged across his cheek from your touch and you couldn't help but giggle a little. "Oh stars, I am sorry it seems I forgot just how messy I am currently."

Thrawn touched the wet paint on his face and withdrew his hand, studying it upon his fingers, his glowing gaze fixated on you once more, his smile still serene. "No matter. I predict such is only the beginning."

You sipped your wine and motioned for him to sit with you upon the tarp, dragging your paints closer so they were with reach. "I've run out of canvas anyway." You looked him over, your lips twitching. "And I can't think of a lovelier substitute."

Thrawn acquiesced, he rarely denied you anything these days, since you'd become romantically involved with the Chiss. It was common for most to view Thrawn as emotionless and a little cold, but that was not the case when the two of you were alone together.

You reached forward and began lifting his black tank top up, giving him a questioning look. When he nodded, you fluidly removed the garment and tossed it to a safe paint-clear space on the floor. You paused a moment to take in the beauty of the man sitting next to you, the shades of his blue skin shifting under the fluorescent light of your studio.

Thrawn's eyes were upon your face, his expression reminded you of the phrase "the cat who got the cream" and heat flushed to your cheeks.

"Continue." Thrawn prompted silkily, his tone barely more than a purr.

You shivered a little, your own eyes meeting his briefly, knowing he could read you backwards and forwards like a well-loved book. Your fingers dipped into the cold paint, choosing a dark crimson shade at first because you couldn't resist the color matching Thrawn's eyes.

"Hold still." You instructed, a little needlessly because Thrawn was still as a statue while you moved closer. You could feel his breath on your face and had to clear your head with a little shake.

"You appear somewhat distracted, my darling." Thrawn chuckled at your blushing reaction and took your own hand, extending your arm and dipping into his own choice of paint. You glanced down, he'd chosen a crisp yellow.

"I'm perfectly cognizant, just had a little wine." You defended, narrowing your eyes at him in a teasing glare. His gaze however was focused on his own work now as he began spreading the paint over your bare arm in swirling patterns that almost tickled.

You in turn began your own body art at his shoulder, tracing the contours of his muscles with the deep red and filling the lines at your leisure with grey and white hues. The distracting sensation of Thrawn brushing against your skin sent pleasant chills down your spine and your movements faltered as you closed your eyes a moment to enjoy it.

"You are quite skilled." Thrawn murmured and you opened your eyes to see him appraising his shoulder and arm with a satisfied expression. "Your color theory is a rare talent."

You leaned forward, taking the opportunity to place a sneaky kiss to his jaw. Thrawn's hand instinctively snaked around your torso, under your shirt at your back and pulled you closer as he turned his mouth to meet yours. You felt the cold paint smear against your skin but heeded it not, Thrawn's lips were fiery against your skin as he trailed small kisses down to your throat.

Your hand found its way to the back of his neck, leaving a wake of red paint against his cerulean skin.

"As I predicted." Thrawn pecked a kiss to the tip of your nose before measuring your expression with pride. "Much more of a mess."

"Your brilliance knows no bounds." You snarked, yelping a little as Thrawn took his revenge by adding more cold paint to your abdomnen, though the heat of his hands soon overtook it.

He bent you backwards with the force of his sudden kiss, his movements swift and exact as he moved over your now prone body. Somewhere in the haze and tangled limbs the paint cups got knocked over and you could see the colors pooling around you in your periphery. Thrawn nibbled on your bottom lip and helped you remove your own shirt, the bare skin of your back pressing into the spilled paint.

Where his hands moved, color was left behind streaked against your skin. By the end of your extra-curricular activities Thrawn had to carry you to the shower in order to save the rest of your apartments from being ruined forever.