#commodore faro | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

al-astakbar · 7 months

Text

☆ The Gift -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ The Gift ☆part 6/?

> summary ☆ As congratulations for his recent promotion to Grand Admiral, Emperor Palpatine gives Thrawn a gift -- a young woman who has been trained as a pleasure companion.

> pairing ☆ Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [2.1k] ☆ warnings for this part ☆ none > series warnings ☆ dubious consent; sexual slavery; concubine/ sex slave AU; will add more warnings as more parts are posted. thank you so much @starwh0ers for beta of this part :)

> series navigation ☆ part 1 ☆ part 2 ☆ part 3 ☆ part 4 ☆ part 5 ☆ part 6 ☆ part 7

> posted on ao3

author note!! To be very clear, in this story reader is a concubine against her will and is gifted to Thrawn, but there is at no point any noncon between Thrawn and reader. Reader is never noncon with anyone, either referenced or explicitly, and there is never any explicit noncon. However, this is a darker take on Thrawn and he doesn't really have many hangups about putting his gift to use...

The two stormtroopers on either side of the wide double hatch come to attention as Thrawn strides towards them. “Good morning, gentlemen. Carry on,” he says, just as quickly, and you get the impression he greets whoever’s on shift this way every morning. He has to be the politest Imperial you’ve ever met. Most in his position, of his rank, would barely acknowledge anyone under his command outside his own bridge crew and cadre of senior officers.

Inside, the bridge hums with activity, even while the ship is in stationary orbit. The officer of the watch announces Thrawn’s arrival. The Grand Admiral quickly waves it off; there are more important things on his mind than protocol.

You walk in Thrawn’s shadow down the main corridor, all too aware of the questioning murmurs following you.

Once you’ve passed through a sort of foyer and mounted three short steps, a younger officer with neat, short cropped hair strides up, shoots a concerned glance at you, the non-Imperial interloper, and greets the Grand Admiral.

“Good morning, Admiral.”

“Good morning, Commodore Faro.”

“Shall I pass the word, sir?”

Thrawn’s nod is all the signal needed. A junior officer stands by some sort of ship-wide PA system and blows on a shrill pipe. Then she says into the mouthpiece: “All departments make readiness reports for getting underway to the Officer of the deck in the pilothouse.”

Quickly, the reports come in. Supply, Weapons, Engineering, Operations, Combat Systems. A lot of it is familiar to you, but with slight differences that make you turn your head when you hear them. Shouldn’t be surprising. Many rebellion personnel were former Imps after all.

“I’ve word from the Quartermaster. Fuel and rations replenishment completed, sir.”

“Thank you, Commodore. Munitions?”

“Ordnance chief confirmed complete last night, sir.”

“Very good.” When they are done, Thrawn looks to another officer, who is seated at a console. “Senior Captain Lomar,” he prompts, and the Senior Captain anticipates Thrawn’s order. “Fleet channel ready for you, Admiral.”

“Attention, Seventh Fleet.” He does not settle himself in the command chair, but crosses the command walkway to stand directly in front of the forward viewport, hands clasped behind his back. You hang back, and find yourself transfixed by his presence, unable to look away. “This is Grand Admiral Thrawn. I trust you have enjoyed your time in the capital.”

A round of appreciative, quiet laughter goes around the bridge, which you imagine is echoed on the hundreds of ships he’s addressing. Liberty calls on core planets, and especially Coruscant, were always popular, a chance for Imperial personnel to let loose and enjoy the best the Empire has to offer.

“Our mission,” he continues, “is simple. To eradicate piracy and insurrection in the Limian Sector of the Outer Rim. To accomplish this, we will bring to bear the full skill and power of this Fleet. You have your orders. Carry them out with focus and professionalism, and we will be successful.

… and, good hunting. That is all.” He looks to Lomar, who ends the connection.

Commodore Faro is at his side again, stance wide, hands clasped behind her back. You’ve been on ships before, but had never seen them orchestrated with quite such precision. “Sir, the ship is manned and ready to get underway. Permission to spin up, sir?”

Again, Thrawn nods and his crew react instantly.

“Calculations for the jump ready, sir. Hyperdrive is spun up.”

“At your convenience, Commodore.”

She nods to a black-uniformed technician at a console, who slowly and steadily opens a heavy throttle.

You can’t help your quiet gasp as starlines flare out from a point right in the center of the viewport and then give way to the tunnel of hyperspace. The sight of it is beautiful and unexpected, and you’ve never had such a clear view of a jump before. Suddenly, you’re glad you didn’t stay in Thrawn’s quarters to pout and sulk. More than likely you’d have been stuck there all day with nothing to do except peruse his art collection, and you can’t be sure if he would even permit you that.

If getting to watch Thrawn and the view of the hyperspace jump is the high point of your day so far, meeting Brierly Ronan has to be the lowest.

He strides onto the bridge late in the morning, and before you even know his name, you hear him chastising the stormtrooper guards before the hatch closes again.

In a huff, he nearly gets his flowing white cape caught in it.

Then, he notices you and loudly demands, to no one in particular, “who is this?!”

Thrawn looks up and comes over. “Good morning, Assistant Director. Is something the matter?”

The Assistant Director draws himself up, puffing his chest out and managing a little flourish with his cape, even though he’s standing still. “Yes! There is. I want to know who this is. She’s standing in my spot.”

Thrawn’s eyes flick to the deck, as if trying to see where exactly the spots are delineated. “She was a gift from the Emperor.” He turns to you, making polite formal introductions. “This is Assistant Director Brierly Ronan. And may I present…”

At the utterance of your name, you feel an unpleasant jolt of shock. Companions like you were never supposed to be named in public. It just wasn’t done. Hearing your own name aloud feels vulgar, as if Thrawn had just announced to everyone how much he had enjoyed fucking you last night, and gone into explicit detail.

First he suggests you go without your veil, now he speaks your name. Perhaps he wants to humiliate you. This could be some game to him, but as you watch him, he does not show any sign of enjoying your discomfort. In fact, he seems oblivious to it.

Brierly Ronan, for his part, sputters and turns an ugly shade of red. “Do you really think this is an appropriate place to parade around your pet?” He spits. “Really, Thrawn, even with your famous disdain for the rules— or do you mean to share her with everyone here?”

A muscle in Thrawn’s jaw tics. He waits a moment in silence, a silence that attracts the attention of nearby crew.

“My pet?” He repeats. His tone is quiet and deadly, a trap inviting Ronan to try to explain himself.

Ronan draws himself up, unable to match Thrawn’s height. “Well, she’s obviously not a bodyguard--”

“Are you sure?” He waits for a response that doesn’t come, then continues. “They go through quite a lot of training, you know. She was in the capital for a year.”

“I know what the training entails!” Hisses Ronan.

“And why should I not make known our Emperor’s generosity and good will? I will remind you, Assistant Director, that you are here not as a civilian, but due to your position as an officer in the Imperial military department of advanced weapons research.”

You understand the implication a moment after Ronan does -- despite him apparently having a rank as a civilian, while aboard this ship, his military posting puts him under Thrawn’s command. And he is, after all, wearing a uniform.

Ronan stands a bit straighter, looking furious.

Thrawn again leaves room, a polite incline of his head, for Ronan to reply. When none comes, Thrawn excuses himself to attend to other matters that require his attention. You are left standing there with Ronan, and when you realize that your silent, faceless stare is unnerving him, you force yourself to show the deference that is expected of you. He gives a derisive snort, as if he doesn’t quite believe whatever act you’re putting on. The urge to persist, and entertain yourself by irritating him, is strong, but you know you shouldn’t-- not just to avoid trouble and punishment, but because out of everyone on the Chimaera, he could be the one who might be willing to get you off of it.

Yes. The idea strikes you like a bolt and you inhale sharply. Ronan is the one you need to befriend. He obviously doesn’t like Thrawn. Frankly, you’re surprised Thrawn had tolerated such disrespect, especially in public, in front of his crew. But any overture will need to come from Ronan himself; companions are forbidden from initiating conversations with anyone other than their masters.

You could ignore convention, of course. You eye Ronan again. After his outburst about Thrawn parading you around, you expect that wouldn’t go over well. All you can do is take to hovering near him, and hope that he starts talking to you first.

To your dismay, he says nothing more. He gives you another disdainful look and then turns away with a flourish of his cloak. He retreats to a corner where some officers are talking in low voices, and they hide grimaces when he intrudes on their space.

You are left standing alone, unsure of what to do, and rather self-conscious. Your veil helps somewhat.

Curious eyes follow you-- as professional as Thrawn’s bridge crew may be, you are a strange person encroaching on their space, and an interesting distraction during an uneventful long-haul hyperspace jump.

You watch the operations quietly, alert, not getting too close. There are about thirty people just in the forward section of the bridge, most busy with tasks at data terminals in the crew pits. When you had followed Thrawn down the main corridor, you had seen banks of comms stations, an array of scanners, a holo pod, and some pairs of large double hatches. Officers’ meeting rooms, maybe.

The scale of it all is enough to keep you entertained until Thrawn concludes his discussions and comes back over to you. You had been lingering near the starfighter operations alcove, listening for anything interesting, but of course in hyperspace there isn’t much activity.

Reading the bios last night had not quite conveyed the significance of the Grand Admiral’s rank. Of his extraordinary career.

As you follow him back down the main corridor, you ask how many ships he commands. Impertinent question maybe, but he answers. Nineteen capital ships and twenty-five cruisers.

He lists off more numbers, staggering numbers of ships and personnel, as if it’s the most commonplace thing in the galaxy. 1900 TIE model fighters, then of course there are all the complements of shuttles and troop transports, plus hundreds of smaller support craft.

It takes you a few paces to do the math in your head. “But then… altogether the crew must be over a million people…”

“One million, two hundred thousand and forty-two. Each one crucial, in his or her role, to the operational capability of the fleet.” “But I bet you don’t know all their names.” You grin up at him.

He merely raises an eyebrow at you.

“I apologize for that… scene,” says Thrawn in a low tone once you are in a quieter passageway-- close to his quarters, you think, though the halls are so easy to get lost in. The standard shift is not over, but there are still hours to go for the first leg of the hyperspace jumps. You had overheard from the navigation section on the bridge that this is the first of three. “I did not expect the Assistant Director to react so forcefully. And I can assure you, he does not have claim to any particular ‘spot’ on the bridge.”

“Who is he, exactly?”

Thrawn’s tone is just the slightest bit dry when he answers. If his sly antagonism of the man had been anything to go by, you’d bet Thrawn doesn’t particularly like him, or at least resents having to deal with him. “A mediator, of sorts. Assigned to the ship to ensure the terms of an agreement are upheld.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t just jealous?”

Breaking his stride, Thrawn looks over at you, genuinely puzzled. “For what reason?”

You just pluck at your robe, holding up the fabric, and understanding dawns on his face.

“Ah, of course. A symbol of status.” He resumes walking. You aren’t sure how to feel about that-- reduced to being a rare prize-- nor do you mention the other reason Ronan might have reacted that way-- you are human, and Thrawn is not. “Regardless, I should have anticipated this. It should have been a private conversation. But in the end it was to our advantage, I think. Those who witnessed it will have gained some understanding of who you are and why you are with me.”

“And the rest of the crew will hear about it by supper,” you add. News travels fast on a ship, even one this big, where gossip will always be a favorite pastime.

He gives you a sideways glance, and you could swear he almost smiles.

☆ link to part 7 ☆

☆join tag list☆ <- this is the easiest way to make sure your request is recorded, however anyone is also welcome to dm me if they want to be added or removed.

@thrawns-babygirl @vibratingskull @thrawns-teef-weef @aethersecho @exoplorationn @elc3004 @littlecrowtime @twilekchiss @saber-slutt @projectdreamwalker @ele-millennial-weirdo @vaarians @shoe-bag @thrawnspetgoose @nomercyforthewarrior @pb-jellybeans @twincesskorisoka @jewelliffer @cecilyjmorgenstern @mandinlore @bobaprint @bluechiss @andrakass2 @nocturneabyss @starwh0ers

#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn x reader #thrawn fic #thrawn x you #thrawn x y/n #thrawn fanfiction #thrawn fanfic #star wars

100 notes · View notes