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The first thing that came to mind when you awoke were the memories. The precise red shade of the setting sun as it sank towards the sea of your home planet, a tranquil sight before three ink black pinpricks became visible on the horizon. First Order ships, growing nightmarishly larger and larger until they were upon your settlement, discharging wave upon wave of stormtroopers in a haze of dust and fire. You remember sprinting through frantic crowds, screams peppering the air like bullets, desperate for any way to escape. You almost did escape, before you turned the wrong corner, straight into a group of roving stormtroopers. You dove to the side, but you were too late, a blaster shell slicing into the top of your right shoulder, making your entire body spasm with pain. You remembered slumping facedown against a nearby building, blood pooling underneath you with a disturbing warmth. Your only thoughts were that you couldn’t- wouldn’t die here, your frantic mind steeped in shock and denial.
As you tried to pull yourself upright, bracing yourself against the ground, you heard the distinct sound of stormtrooper chatter, their voices metallic and crackling. You froze. “We’re done here.” One voice said, low in pitch and distinctly feminine. “There is no information of value for the Surpreme Leader on this backwater planet. Get back to the ship.” There was the scuffling sounds of boots against the ground, and to your horror you realized the group was headed straight for you, the silhouettes of their armor growing larger in the haze around the rubble. You decided to play dead, letting yourself slump uselessly against the ground, still wincing at the throbbing agony in your injured shoulder. Resting your cheek against the ground, through your half closed eyelids, you could see the white boots of the troopers hurrying past. The group was picking their way around the cracked pavement, avoiding your prone form. You allowed yourself, in the midst of your fear and pain, to feel a small measure of relief. Your plan was working, and you had great faith in your ruse’s continued success until a boot made contact with your back with such force that you screamed and tumbled over yourself, gravel tearing into your skin. Through a haze of tears you could see another stormtrooper, the one who had kicked you, looming over you. This one did not wear the bone-white armor of the others, but was dressed head to toe in silver metallic armor that reflected and distorted the flames that were slowly consuming your home planet. A long cape fluttered in the blazing air around the stormtrooper’s ankles. They stopped to regard you, bleeding and curled up on the ground, and you had the horrible sense that the eyes of the person behind that silver mask were staring fixedly at you with a burning hunger.
“Captain.” Echoed the voice of another stormtrooper from nearby. “Shall I put her out of her misery?”
Better to die crawling than lying still, you thought, and frantically you began to haul yourself over the rubble, scrabbling against the pavement with your uninjured hand. You had to escape them, outrun them somehow, but the voice of the silver-plated stormtrooper interrupted your frantic thoughts. “No.” she said, in a measured low cadence that made chills race down your spine, even as you continued to drag yourself forward over the broken concrete as fast as your injuries would allow. “Bring her back to the ship instead.” You froze, uncomprehending, at the words. But before you could ponder them further, something slammed into the back of your head, and you lost consciousness.
****
Those were the first thoughts that came rushing back to you, as you struggled in your drowsy state to regain consciousness. But what pulled you out of your stupor was the sensation of cold metal brushing across your face and temples with a deliberate tenderness. Your eyes flew open to see the strange silver-armored stormtrooper looming over you, applying some sort of salve to the numerous cuts on your forehead and cheek. You tried to squirm out of her grip. “Hold still.” She hissed, her voice distorted by the metal of her helmet. Her armored gloved hand pressed you flat onto a soft surface you realized was a bed. The odd careful way her fingers brushed the side of your skull made you shiver. You told yourself it was because of the cold.
Your eyes followed the line of bandages covering the top of your shoulder, which throbbed only faintly with pain. You realized with a wave of relief that the wound was not in fact, still open. That relief soon turned to horror when you tried to experimentally raise your arm and couldn’t. Your eyes caught sight of a silver band around your wrist, a long chain lashing your arm to the wall on the side of the bed. An attempt to raise your left arm let you know that it was similarly restrained. You swallowed hard, bile rising in your gut as the stormtrooper continued to delicately apply salve to the cuts on your face with her long fingers. Eventually she stood up from the side of the bed where she had been seated. “The salve should help close those scrapes in a week or so.” She said, sounding cold and almost disdainful. “Your shoulder and arm are repaired as well, thanks to my personal medic. They will take some time to heal.”
There was a stilted silence. You tried not to think - would not think about why you were still alive, chained to the bed of some First Order soldier, and why that soldier would bother to apply healing ointment to your face in a way that was almost tender. You squirmed, trying to adjust yourself since your upper back was still aching terribly, and with another spike of panic you realized that both of your legs had been secured to the base of the bed with chains that rattled with your every move. The stormtrooper now had her back turned to you, and was placing whatever ointment she had used on your face into a small compartment in the wall, which opened with a hiss of air. The situation you were in was bizarre, and terrifying, but still, whoever, this stormtrooper was, whatever horrid things she had done on your home planet, she had decided to save your life. “Thank you.” You said in a hoarse voice, the words tumbling out of you before you could think better of it. “For not leaving me to die out there.”
There was that same horrible silence before the stormtrooper slowly turned away from the wall and cocked her shiny head to the side. “Ha.” A slow, sinister laugh. “You should know better than to thank me. You must be truly naive” She turned and stalked towards the bed, settling herself by your side. Her hand fiddled with the edge of her helmet and she yanked it off, dropping it to the floor with a muffled thump. Before you could fully take in her face, her piercing gaze, cropped blonde-white hair, and the smirk playing on the corner of her thin lips, she extended one armored hand and settled it on your thigh, the chill of the metal glove seeping through the thin medical gown you had been dressed in.
You froze, and her smirk grew wider. “I told you that you shouldn’t have thanked me.” The stormtrooper drawled, her voice even lower in pitch without the metallic distortion of her helmet. “Why do you think I decided to go through the trouble of saving you?”
You had nothing to say, no answer. Your heart thrummed with something like morbid anticipation as you shifted your leg underneath her grip, a futile gesture that made your chains clink. “I don’t know.” You stammered, even though you did know, and what you knew filled you with horrific excitement. This woman - this stormtrooper had likely participated in ravaging countless planets before your own. She had taken you captive for clearly less than altruistic purposes. You had to act wisely. Perhaps flattery would spare you a painful fate, you thought. “I don’t know why you saved me.” You said, as calmly as you could manage. “But I’m grateful, you must understand- given the First Order’s reputation -“ and you winced inwardly at the way you stumbled over the words “- given the First Order’s reputation, I did not expect kindness from a stormtrooper. But nonetheless I am grateful, very grateful.” Your words made her grip suddenly tighten around your thigh.
“What did you say?!” She asked incredulously.
Fear pooled in your gut. “I didn’t mean to insult the First Order.” You swore frantically, shifting your chains. “I-“
“I don’t care about your opinions on the First Order.” The stormtrooper said derisively, waving her other armored hand in the air like she was swatting a fly. “Your thoughts about our political maneuverings in the galaxy have no bearing on the plans I have made for you here.” There was another squeeze of your thigh that sent tingles down your spine. You yelped as she lunged forward to position herself over your prone form, pressing the full weight of her armored body on yours, overwhelming you with its metallic coldness.
“I want you to know that I am not a mere stormtrooper.” She hissed, indignant. You blinked in confusion. “But-“ you trailed off, overwhelmed by her close proximity to you and even more overwhelmed by the sly expression that was creeping across her handsome features. She shifted on top of you and brushed a single ice-cold thumb across your lips. “You really have no idea who I am, do you?” She said. “Who are you then?” You asked, more curious than afraid now. Her cold armor was making you shiver and you squirmed, which only made her laugh in a predatory way and press you further into the mattress. “I-“ she said, a large gloved hand finding your throat and wrapping around it, threatening but not yet painful. “-am Captain Phasma. First ranked officer of the First Order and all the soldiers on all the planets in our sphere of influence. I am not a stormtrooper. I command stormtroopers.“
There was a clicking sound, and you realized she had slipped a sizable knife out from somewhere in her armor. You thrashed and were about to yell when she covered your mouth with her other hand, smiling horribly as she pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Scream all you like. Nobody will hear you, and even if they could, none of them would come to your defense. You’re not the first captive I’ve taken for my personal uses, and you won’t be the last.” She gloated. With one smooth motion Phasma placed the blade under your clavicle and sliced downwards through the thin medical gown you had been dressed in. She pulled away the damaged fabric and threw it unceremoniously to the floor along with the blade. Before you could even begin to process what you had been told, the fact that she - Captain Phasma - had been responsible for orchestrating the fall of countless planets - her lips were on yours, overwhelming you.
She kissed you hungrily and skillfully, her tongue parting your lips. You tried your best to resist but she held your chin in place, her hips grinding into you. You felt like you were on fire, with the knowledge of who she was rushing through you, the adrenaline of the past night and day mingled with the dull throbbing pain in your shoulder. You could have fought, could have screamed but some unfathomable desire to surrender to Phasma’s caresses was brewing within you. You cursed yourself and your predicament as she broke the kiss, pausing to drag her tongue over your jawline and down the side of your neck, where she softly applied her teeth to your sensitive flesh, making you wince. Maybe it would have been easier if she had been hideous, if you hadn’t been intrigued by her sly grin and the soft slope of her muscular shoulders, her wide hands which were even now working over your breasts slowly and teasingly. When one of her armored hands moved lower to rest between your legs, you moaned in spite of yourself. Phasma licked the side of your neck one last, slow time before she replaced her soft lips with a hand around your throat, aggressively pressing her forehead to yours.
“Do you still want to thank me for saving your life, for taking you from that pitiful planet?” Phasma said, her face flushed as she brushed one of her metal plated knuckles against your entrance, making you extend your legs as far as your chains would allow. “Do you enjoy letting me do whatever I want with you?” She said in a mocking way that made your whole body tremble. “Because if you don’t, I can leave you at the next docking station and find a more willing plaything on whatever planetary system the Supreme Leader sends me to invade next. Because there will always be more worlds for our empire to devour.” At these words, she dragged another finger tantalizing lower, and you leaned into her touch as far as the restraints would allow. “But.” She continued with a playful bite on your uninjured shoulder, making you gasp “I think we both know that’s not what you actually want, is it?”
“No.” You said in a strained voice, fear and desire flooding your body. You tried to grind downwards on her gloved fingers but she shifted her hand out of reach, which was infuriating. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t leave me on the next docking station. I want this.”
Phasma tightened her grip on your throat with her other hand, with just enough force for the gesture to be alarming. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, my doll.” The word made heat pool in the pit of your stomach.
“I do.” You said, a mad grin spreading across your face. You suddenly had the suicidal urge to taunt this woman, to make things difficult for her as a small petty way to avenge your scorched and ruined home planet, in spite of your wish to be intimate with her. “Do your worst, stormtrooper.” You baited Phasma.
Nothing could have prepared you for the pressure of her metal-encased palm digging into the bandages on your injured shoulder. You gasped in pain as Phasma leaned over you as she ground her thumb into the tender flesh where the injury had been stitched closed. “You.” She hissed into your ear - and her rage was both frightening and delightful - “-will address me as “Captain” or “Sir” from now on, do you understand?” The pressure on your old wound was unbearable and you opened and closed your hands uselessly in their shackles. Tears leaked down your cheeks. “I understand.” You managed to choke out. There was another ferocious wave of pressure on your shoulder. “You understand what?” Phasma demanded. “I understand-“ You said as more tears of pain clouded your vision. “-Captain.” You spat the word as if it was a curse. Mercifully, Phasma stopped digging her fingers into your wound and cradled your head almost gently, smoothing a short strand of hair back from your tear-stained cheeks. Then she smiled savagely and dipped her head to lick the tears off your face. You thrashed underneath her and she laughed. “That wasn’t so hard to call me by my proper title, was it?” She said, her lips leaving a hot line of marks down your neck and collarbones. “And you should remember not to cry in the future, If you know what’s good for you. Seeing your lovely face contorted in pain only makes me want you more.” And without another word, she slid one hand over your stomach and slipped one of her shockingly cold armored fingers inside you.
You gasped at the sudden intrusion, at the skillful way Phasma worked her way into your body. You barely had time to adjust before she slid lower, planting kisses around both of your breasts. When she rolled one of your nipples against her tongue and you groaned, she removed her finger from inside you, making you tremble with want. Lifting her head from your chest, she said “Tell me what you want, my doll. Beg me.” You strained against your chains and stared fixedly up at the dim ceiling of the room. To think you would be begging a captain of the First Order, a planet-killing maniac for this, but you were desperate from being teased.
“Please-“ You begged, and there was a sharp slap from Phasma on your inner thigh. “-Sir.” You bit your tongue to keep from saying anything more. Phasma responded with a devious twirl of two of her fingers over your entrance. “Be specific.” She said in a voice that was almost smugly cheerful. “I expected more from you, considering how desperate you seemed for me earlier.” You whined and strained against your chains. “Must I, Captain?” You asked, futilely begging for a reprieve. Phasma responded with languid smirk. “You don’t have to tell me of your own accord, doll. I could just torture it out of you.” She brought her armored hand down on your thigh again, which made you wince even as it sent delicious heat flooding into the pit of your stomach. “Or maybe,” She said, crawling over your body to cup your face in both of her large hands. “I could just hurt you and not give you what I know you want. That would be fun.” There was a wide and terrible smile twisting her elegant features. “It would amuse me greatly to watch you scream for mercy. And it would put you in your place.” She ran her thumb over one of your nipples and you shivered. “So what will it be?
You ground your hips into the mattress, hearing the faint rattling sound of your chains. “I want you to fuck me, Captain.” you said without any shame. One of her hands slid lower as her smile grew wider. “And also Captain, I want to touch you.” You added. Phasma raised a pale eyebrow. “Clever.” She laughed. “Maybe I’ll allow that fully one day, when I can trust you not to try to escape from me. But for now, I’ll allow only this.” She fiddled with something near the bed’s headboard, and the chain around your injured arm came loose and retracted. With some pain and difficulty, you raised your arm to run your hand through her short hair and pull her closer into a kiss. You were lost in the embrace, drowning in her, when she slipped two ice cold armored digits inside you and began to move them gently within you until you came undone under her hands. You both lay there panting, your head swimming with remembered bliss and a sense of delayed horror. How many people had she killed with those same hands? You wondered, and then forced yourself to stop wondering. You decided to push your luck one last time. For yourself, for your destroyed planetary homeland, and for all you had lost. Or at least that’s what you told yourself to justify the foolish words you said next. “Thank you again for saving me and taking me with you.” You whispered into her ear, trying not to grin. “My Stormtrooper.”
The Captain raised her head from the crook of your shoulder, a look of ire and irritation on her face. Wordlessly, she reached with one arm to snatch something on a low table off the side of the bed. You laughed weakly but your mirth was stifled when she lifted your head none too gently and pried your mouth open with her fingers, shoving the contraption she had grabbed into your mouth and buckling it behind your head. You thrashed feebly as she forced your free arm back into its chain. She bent to retrieve her helmet from the floor, rose to her feet, smirking as she looked over you. “I have to prepare my troops for our next invasion.” She bent to trail her still-damp fingers over your cheek. “Maybe in the next planetary system, I can find another pretty captive to keep you company, hmm? Would you like that?” She laughed at the incoherent response you gave from behind the gag. Leaning over, Phasma slipped a thick band of plated chrome out from within a compartment in her armor and slid it into place around your neck, locking it shut with a click. “It’s a collar.” She said by way of explanation as she secured her long cape around her shoulders. “As a reminder of what you are.” She slipped the helmet over her head, hiding her face, and you couldn’t help but feel a small pang. When she spoke again through her helmet, her voice was once again distorted and metallic. “When I return, I am going to introduce you to a world of hurt.” The Captain promised. You couldn’t see her face any longer, but you could almost imagine her predatory smile, and the space between your legs ached with longing as she slipped like a silver ghost from the room.