Our Love is a Battlefield
A Captain Phasma x Reader oneshot
Summary: The Reader, one of the Knights of Ren, does not react well to her lover being injured in battle.
Content Warning: SFW - mild scenes of sci-fi violence and sappy smooching
A/N: This is actually one of the first oneshots I started writing, because honestly Phasma needs more love. I love her so much omg. Also, I firmly believe Phasma is a romantic at heart and will let her sappy side out when in private or if she thinks she’s about to die fite me
You were born of battle; the dirt, the sweat, the adrenaline, it swirled in your blood joining with that gods awful energy that just itched to be let loose. You had endured years of training, teaching you how to harness that energy to use it to become the baddest thing on the battlefield and it had all culminated to this.
You didn’t feel the blaster shot that had pierced your thigh, or the one that had hit you right in your side. Or, perhaps a better way to word it was that you did feel the burn of your injuries just not in the way intended. Pain led to anger, anger led to hatred, and hatred only fueled you further. You relished in it, relished in the blood and gore that dripped from the black lines of your uniform, not from a desire to inflict pain (though you longed to do just that) but from the implication that proved you were the strongest one here.
The Force thrummed a warning, a prickle of unease and foreboding seconds before the shot of blaster fire came barreling towards you. Those few seconds were all the warning you needed, swinging your lightsaber in a perfect arc to deflect the shot. Yellow eyes scanned the battlefield, glowing with an infernal light in spite of the dim created by the dogfight above you.
“You dare raise your weapon against a Knight of Ren?” You snarled at the traitorous trooper, raising a hand as you let the Force coil through you with a crackle of intense energy.
The arc of lightning grounded itself in the chestpiece of the Stormtrooper, and you grinned savagely when you saw the halo of their skeletal system through the armor. That gave the opposing army cause for pause, a distraction that you capitalized upon with a sweep of your arm. A wave of Force energy swept from the gesture, knocking back the Resistance fighters as you lifted yourself off of your feet in attack. There were few enough remaining that had any skill in lightsaber combat, even fewer that had the raw power to master Kylo Ren’s preferred Vapaad style, and you were one of them.
A Knight of Ren, codenamed Reaver, you had taken your master’s teachings and used them to master the Trispzest fighting style. Devastating offense mixed with aerial fighting styles, you utilized the Force not only to do damage to your opponents but also to keep yourself airborne. It made you dangerous in the heat of battle; hence the reason why your master frequently used you in ground confrontations.
There was a flash of red as you deflected blaster fire, cutting your way through the uprising as you let the Dark Side buffet you. The volatile energy fed off the death and destruction around you, it strengthened you, and you fucking loved it.
You did feel the shot that hit your shoulder, the follow-up to the stomach almost knocking you off of your feet. Except… there hadn't been anyone around to fire at you. In fact, there was nobody in your immediate vicinity with the capability to so much as hold a blaster let alone hit you with it. You pressed a curious hand into your shoulder, and there was no injury; if they hadn't actually shot you then that must mean—
“Phasma!” You scanned the battlefield for the familiar shine of chrome plated armor,  panic rising like bile in your throat.
You knew she was out here, the Captain always took the field with her men especially in battles like this one. You’d seen her, had started the fight beside her though the two of you had become separated in the thick of things. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, you knew that Phasma was more than capable of handling herself on the battlefield. But you couldn’t see her among those still standing, and you knew she was injured, and this was unacceptable.
You let the Force guide you to her side, cutting across the field in leaps and bounds until you saw her. There were only two stormtroopers standing between Phasma and the handful of traitors and scum that had their blasters raised. She was leaned back against a shattered tree trunk, cloak balled up and pressed into her stomach, with bits and pieces of her armor scorched and scattered around them. You saw the splash of blood smeared across the chromium plating, and it was the last thing you remember being consciously aware of as you let your hatred swallow you up.
“Holy shit.” Phasma blinked her eyes open at those awed words, pale lips curling into a slight smile beneath her helmet as she saw you land in the middle of the Resistance group.
To her you were like an avenging angel, lightsaber swinging like a holy weapon as you cut through the enemies surrounding her. When the Resistance realized what was happening they desperately tried to concentrate blaster fire on you, only to have it deflected by your efficient strokes. Your features were frenzied and enraged as you lifted a hand, sending a chain of lightning among the remaining enemies. You stood panting among a sea of corpses as you tried to claw your way out of the bloodlust, deactivating your lightsaber as your attention fell on the two stormtroopers standing guard over the Captain.
“Phasma.” You breathed, shoving them both out of the way as you rushed to her side. “How badly are you injured?”
“Bad enough,” She answered tiredly, “Help me get this helmet off, I want to see you.”
“You can already see me, you’re being sentimental.” You let out a worried laugh, hands lifting to press into the release locks and pull the helmet off. Her face was paler than usual, bordering on gray, sweat slicking her blonde hair to her face and she took in a sharp breath as soon as she was free of the constraints of her helmet.
You pressed a hand to her cheek, thumb tracing the sharp line of her bone structure as you let your eyes assess the extent of the damage. “I have to get you to a shuttle.”
“We’d never make it in time, (y/n).” She shook her head, dropping it back against the rough bark. “They’d mow us down.”
“Bullshit.” You spat, tapping your fingers against her flesh in a gentle reprimand. “Don’t tell me you spent all that kriffin time on those fitness regiments just to let a couple of blaster shots get the best of you. That’s disappointing, Captain.”
You lifted your gaze to the other two troopers. “Where is the nearest shuttle?”
“That way, ma’am. But there’s no way we’ll make it; the Resistance is swarming the area.” FN-3005 answered sharply. “I’m sorry, but I—”
Your lifted hand halted her words, the Force cutting off the trooper’s airways and making speech impossible. “Let me spell this out for you two. You are going to get the Captain to that shuttle and get her medical care as quickly as physically possible. I’ll clear you a path, but if she dies so do you. Understood?”
“(y/n).” Phasma lifted a hand to curl around your wrist, “Let her go. They can’t do anything if they’re dead.”
You did as your lover bid, dropping your hand as you turned your attention back to her. “I’m getting you out of here. I promise.”
“I believe you.” Phasma stared at you intently, eyes sharp in spite of the dulling edge of pain as she tried to memorize your determined features. “If something happens, if we don’t…”
“Phas,” You shook your head, “You’re not allowed to get poetic on me now; someone might think you’re dying or something.”
The blonde slid her hand up to cradle your own, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss into your palm. “I love you.”
“You’re going soft, Captain.” You teased lightly, heart thudding painfully in your chest as you pressed a hard, desperate kiss against her lips. “I love you too.”
“My helmet.” You helped your lover put her helmet back on, standing aside to let the two troopers lift Phasma into their arms, careful not to agitate the wounds any farther. You wished there was more that you could do, but healing had never been your strong suit. They called you the Reaver because you specialized in destructive Force abilities; healing wasn’t one of them.
Time was of the essence, and it wasn’t hard for you to draw upon your anger for power. It was everywhere around you, obvious in the smear of bloody fingers along your wrist. The Resistance was going to pay for this, and you wouldn’t rest until every last one of those bastards were dead.
“Stay behind me, and keep out of the range of fire.” You warned, lightsaber hilt in one hand. “The Captain is your main concern right now.”
Lightning crackled along your fingertips, running down the veins of your arm and rolling into a growing ball in your palm. With each step you took towards the battle, the lightning grew in intensity, small arcs forming along your shoulders as you became a walking lightning storm. Dark energy filled you, trying to pull you apart in every direction and you clung to it with all you had as you let it build. You had to wait, had to keep control until the very last moment to the most amount of damage.
Not yet. You thought, other arm moving in raw instinct to deflect blaster fire. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.
Now. With a shriek of pain, and anger, and hatred and all of the other emotions you couldn’t quantify you let the Force burst out of you in a torrent of raw electricity. It arced between stormtroopers and Resistance members alike, their internal systems lighting up even as their bodies were left as nothing more than smoking husks.
You didn’t care about the lives you’d taken, didn’t care about the collateral damage to the Order. The only thing that mattered to you was the wavering life force of the woman behind you.
“You look a mess, Captain.” Phasma considered those words as her blurry vision focused on your face, considered commenting that while she had no idea how she looked, you didn’t appear to be much better.
As it was, she was just surprised to find she was alive. “What happened?”
“I got you to the shuttle.” You answered simply, handing over a cup of water. “We got out just as the General sent in reinforcements. We won the battle, and are in the midst of interrogating the captured survivors. You spent three days in a bacta tank.”
She let you help her into a sitting position, studying your ragged features and concluding that you likely hadn’t slept at all during those three days. You likely hadn’t eaten much either, but at least you were clean and your own injuries had been seen to.
“I didn’t doubt you.” She said sincerely, hand catching yours. “You were a vision, (y/n), such power and ferocity.”
You lifted your joined hands to your lips, relief running through you. Your Captain was a hard woman in uniform; her strength and hard edges had been what had attracted you to her in the first place, but the layers underneath… you had fallen in love with the unwavering faith she put in you, in your abilities. When you were alone, away from the prying eyes of the soldiers and other officers, that had been when you realized that Phasma could be soft too.
You were more than happy to admit that you had fallen head over heels with the poetic way she would speak to you, the way her eyes and hands and lips had worshipped your body.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again. I thought I had lost you.” You warned sternly, pressing another kiss to the inside of her wrist.
“I suppose all of those fitness regiments were worth something after all.” Phasma hummed, blue eyes lidded as she watched you follow the veins in her arm with your mouth.
You nipped your teeth at the juncture of her elbow, smiling slightly. “Thank the stars.”
