#stormtrooper reader

Luke Skywalker x Stormtrooper! Female Reader

Aka: A recon goes bad, for the better.

-- this (y/n) has predetermined features! --

⋆·˚ ༘ *requested by my lovely wife @mmexoii⋆·˚ ༘ *

(( Y/N means your name// L/N means last name )))

TW: Mentions of Guns and death!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was supposed to be a rescue mission. In and out. Grab the princess, and leave.

It was going well to start. Minus the onslaught of Stormtroopers. Lucky for Luke, they can't aim.

Except for one.

This one specific trooper almost shot Luke dead in the face a few times, and if it wasn't for his amazing senses (totally not dumb luck), he'd be dead.

It's all he could think about. Hell, it's all any of the group could think about. This doesn't just happen. Stormtroopers don't magically get better overnight.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The group ends up getting split up after an ambush, leaving Luke barreling down a random hallway he's not even sure leads anywhere. He's just... running. He's running as fast as his tired muscles will let him. He needs to regroup; being alone in a Sith ship is not a good idea.

Luke's footsteps echo through the halls as he runs. The adrenaline coursing through him leaves the loud thuds falling on deaf ears.

He can see it, the end of the hallway. A dead end. He made a wrong turn a while back.

'Shit.' he curses internally, spinning on his heels to retrace his steps. Though he doesn't turn to the hallway like he assumed he would. He turns and is immediately staring down the barrel of a blaster.

His eyes widen. 'Shit.' repeats in his head.

There in front of him stood a stormtrooper, one he recognized from earlier encounters. The same one that almost shot him in the head. Who now has a blaster pressed between his eyes.

"Foolish boy," the trooper mutters, their voice muffled by the mask. Luke feels his stomach drop, his brain rushing with anxiety. In a mere second, he could drop dead. A single blaster shot where it sat would kill him instantly.

The barrel of the gun is hot against his skin, seems like it'd been fired recently.

The trooper lowers their blaster, pressing it into the center of the man's chest. Luke's breath hitches, his throat tight as he stares at the hauntingly white mask.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The man looks scared. More scared than most she'd dealt with. She'd been trained to abandon most of her morals when becoming a stormtrooper.

Don't show mercy, don't show emotion, allegiance to the Sith.

But there was something about this boy. Something about him pulling at the heartstrings she'd fought so hard to get rid of. He was like... like a tiny lost puppy, and she was holding a gun at it.

For once in her career, she didn't want to shoot.

She lowers her blaster again before tucking it into her holster. The man's brows furrow deeply, his eyes still wide and his breath still heavy.

Luke takes this as an opportunity to run. Bad idea for him, as the stormtrooper grabs his wrist, almost causing him to fall.

"There's more down there. Patrol switch." The trooper hums, pulling him steady.

Luke opens his mouth to speak, but is greeted by a single shake of the head from the trooper. She instead pulls him into the office she came out of when she heard him running, shutting the door behind them.

"Speak," she spits, less of a demand, more of an allowance.

Luke is quick to ramble on with questions, "Why didn't you just shoot me? There was no upside to keeping me alive; you could've just-"

He's just as quick to trail off as the trooper removes her helmet, and long brown locks of hair tumble down her back. Her eyes are a warm brown, but they hold no genuine warmth. They're cold and cruel, just like she was trained. Her predator-like gaze bores into Luke's soul as they hold silent eye contact. Luke's mouth is slightly agape, his lower jaw trembling as he tries to find the words to speak. He just can't.

Every muscle in his body tenses as she takes a step forward. His jaw snaps shut. Her eyes narrow as she stares at him.

"I don't know why I didn't shoot you," she spits out, her eye twitching slightly. She seemed almost mad at herself. Mad that her training left her head at the sight of some... guy.

Luke takes a wary step backwards, his back now flush against the wall. To mirror, the girl takes another step forward. They stood about 3 inches from one another, her hot, angry breath the only noise in the room.

"I should've put the blast straight through your head," she says through gritted teeth, raising a finger to press right between his eyes, where the barrel of her blaster previously sat. Luke winces as her finger presses into the skin.

Tension hangs thick in the air as the two stand. The trooper rips her hand from Luke's head with a loud, angry exhale. She begins to pace the room, leaving Luke to slide down the wall and sit on the floor, his own breath heavy. His mind was racing. The girl is obviously angry, pissed even. Yet, she made no move to harm him.

She definitely should, it's her job. She's a higher ranking trooper, signified by the black and orange patch on her suit's shoulder. Killing him should be as easy as breathing to her, but she keeps hesitating.

Something is growing inside of her; or regrowing may be more appropriate. She can feel her heart swell as she looked at the pathetic man on the floor of her office. Her eyes didn't show it, they probably never will, but she wanted to help.

Racking her brain, she returns to their first encounter, when she purposefully missed her shots aimed at the man's face. He was with others: two men visibly older than him, a rather large wookie, and two droids, a C3-model and a R2-model.

The girl blinks as an idea rushes to her head, turning her gaze towards the still frightened boy.

"The droids you came with, do you know their whereabouts?" She questions, walking over to the large computer in the corner of the room.

Luke shakes his head, "We got separated after an ambush, R2D2 is most likely with Han.." he trails off, why is he telling this information to a Stormtrooper. One that tried to kill him at that.

She nods, typing rather quickly as a massive holographic screen deploys behind the keyboard. They didn't use R2-models or C3-models, so it would be rather easy to find their signals aboard the ship and track them down. She did just that.

With a few very specific searches, a slightly wicked smirk rolls over her face. "They're in sector 4, by the loading bay."

Luke's eyes widen in shock, she found his crew so easily. It was honestly terrifying the technology the Empire had.

The girl pulls her hair back up, tucking it under her helmet. "I can escort you there, it's on the way to the prison chambers, so other Troopers will just think I'm transporting a prisoner."

A look of relief washes over Luke's face, a smile accompanying it. He nods, fully on-board with the plan.

"I'll have to cuff you to make it believable, I just won't lock them," she explains, pulling a set of cuffs off her belt as the man stands up.

Luke is quick to comply, turning around with his hands behind his back. He shivers slightly as the cold metal of the cuffs hit his wrists, a very slight *clink* as they close. The trooper held her word and didn't lock the cuffs. Her gloved hand wraps around the middle of the cuffs, using them to guide Luke out of the room and towards the loading bay.

Not a single trooper questions the pair as they traverse the halls of the ship. Most of the troops they saw where lower ranking than her, so they dare not make accusations in fear of punishment or rank decrease.

They reach the loading bay rather quickly, which is completely empty except for the Millennium Falcon. An older cloaked man is quick to rush out of the ship, his hand hovering over his lightsaber at the sight of the trooper. That's all the signal she needs to click the release on the cuffs, placing them back on her belt.

Luke turns his head over his shoulder, looking back at the Stormtrooper lady. She went from trying to shoot him, to helping him escape the place she called home.

Luke fully pivots as the girl turns to leave. "Wait!-"

She turns slightly, looking back at the younger man. The older man removed his hand from over his saber, he could almost sense that she meant no harm.

Luke exhales shakily, "Come with us," he says hesitantly. The trooper looks at Luke for a while, turning her head back to the doors of the loading bay.

Should she leave behind the only life she's ever known? A life of death and destruction, reigning fear wherever she went?

It seems there's only one clear answer.

She raises her hands to pull the helmet off her head, she holds it in her hands a moment, and her eyes pull to the older man. He gives her a nod, he seems okay with the idea.

With that, she tucks the helmet under her arm, turning her head back to Luke. She nods, a proper smile on her lips.

Luke offers a similar smile, offering the girl a hand to take her onto the ship. She grasps his hand with her own, allowing herself to be hoisted onto the ship.

She turns to the older man, releasing Luke's hand. "I'm (Y/N) (L/N), ex- stormtrooper, at your service."

So they escape with the Child, and when Mando finds them, he's a bit suspicious, but he can see that Y/N saved Grogu, and the kid seems to like them, so he let them stay. 

(bonus round, soulmate AU, I’m in my soulmate phase lately. Din having the name "UN-3893", which is not a fucking name so he always believed he was alone until he met Y/N. He gave them a name, but didn't tell them right away that they were made to be together.)

Request: Would you be willing to write something with Captain Phasma x reader? Maybe something where the reader, like Finn, is an ex-stormtrooper who defected from the First Order, leaving Phasma heartbroken from the reader's betrayal. Maybe Kylo or Hux notice Phasma's feelings, despite her best attempts to try to hide them, and they talk to her and try to comfort her? By anon.

Words: 1,746

A/N: I changed it a little bit towards the end, idk why I can't see Hux or Kylo comforting Phasma, I hope you don't mind. This events take place before Force awakens.

Y/T/N stand for "Your Trooper Number" you can use any code or number and I have a little game for that if you wanna have some fun.

Plumes of smoke meandered up into the night sky as the fires caused by the battle died down. Holding your blaster close to your body you glanced disgusted at the mass of lifeless bodies on the cold ground around you. Corpses from both sides, there were people from the Resistance but there were stormtroopers too, their white uniforms stained with blood spreaded here and there. The panic rushed through you as you recognized some of the fallen soldiers without the helmet, you passed by them murmuring their numbers, the only name the First Order ever gave them, numbers that meant nothing to them but it did to your now dead troop mates, who you grew up with, trained with, all of them now dead by a whim.

You felt yourself suffocating inside the white helmet, feeling an uncomfortable heat as you felt a lump beginning to form in your throat you took it off gasping desperately for a breath the fresh air.

Heavy footsteps rumbled closer, instinctively you rose your weapon and took aim at the intruder, you found a known chromium armor in front of you and a familiar modulated voice rumbled through her helmet.

“Y/N” Captain Phasma murmured, not your number but your name, a name only she and you knew, one she gave you a long time ago in a need to show you you meant much more than just a number to her. “You shouldn’t take off your helmet in battlefield”

“Oh, it’s you” you sighed relieved as you lowered your blaster. You got closer to her, glad to see her after losing many of your friends.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, you saw the blood on your uniform reflected on her armor, her voice sounded distant through the helmet.

“It’s not mine, I’m fine” you assured her.

“Good” she told you “Search for anyone who’s alive, take them to the ship, we have orders to get back to the base.” she said in her usual inexpressive tone she use to give commands away.

"There are no survivors, Captain" you scoffed as you watched the bodies of your fallen mates on the ground. She followed your gaze and sighed, this was not her first time losing soldiers, sure it wasn’t going to be the last one but you were not used to it, and she knew it.

“Let’s go back to the base, Y/N” she told you in a serious tone “It’s been a long night” she said before she turned around and started to walk towards the distant ship that brought all this soldiers to their death.

You thought for a moment on the events of the night, you mission here was supposed to be simple, just capture a spy and bring him to the base. Everything went as planned until Kylo Ren showed up and decided to destroy the whole place, revealing your location to the Resistance, then he left, leaving all of you behind to die.

You’ve seen the terrible things the First Order was capable of but never said a word about it, never doubt. You were trained to follow orders without question them but it was enough, you wouldn’t do the dirty work for them anymore.

“No.” you said making Phasma stop on her feet. “I’m not going back there.”

“You’ll be sent to Reconditioning as soon as we’re back” she said serious as she turned to faced you again.

“Phasma, I’m talking seriously. Stop treating me like another soldier, there’s no one here, you can stop pretending .” you told her “I can’t get back, no after what I’ve seen.”

She stayed quiet, her helmet hiding her face so the only thing you saw was your reflex on her armor, you hated it when you couldn’t see her.

“They stole me as a kid, trained me a soldier to kill on command but I’m not going to kill for them anymore, not after what he did, he left us to die. That’s how much we mean to Kylo Ren, to the First Order.”

“Unfortunate losses to build something bigger” she said.

“How can you say something like that, Phasma?” you asked her, though you knew the answer, she’d been in the First Order for so long. There was good inside her, you had seen it, she was a sensible human forced to toughen up to survive, hidden under a chrome armor. She meant so much to you so you hoped she could see what they were doing were wrong.

“Come with me” you begged “We can start over wherever you want, no more fighting, no more hiding” you told her reaching for her gloved hand “Or even better, we can help the Resistance stop this, Phasma.”

“No” she cut you off “I’ve fought too hard and lost too much getting to where I am, I can’t just simply give up of everything I have now.” she told you, anger on her tone. Then she slowly took her shiny helmet off shaking her head a revealing short locks of golden hair and finally let you met her blue gaze as her hand traveled to cup the side of your face.

“Y/N, you’re having delusions. You’re the best trooper I have ever trained, you and I know there cannot be defectors.” she told you with deep concerned eyes, her voice softer, less imposing, she stared at you for a moment. “Lets just get back to the base and forget this even happened” she said “Please, come back with me.” Captain Phasma begged.

You glanced at her for a moment, she was the only thing holding you from defecting though you had thought it for a time she was always there to comfort you when you were feeling down, healing your wounds after a rough training or battle. You felt safe with her and Phasma felt confident enough to take her helmet off, to be herself around you, even open up about her past. You couldn’t leave her and yet you couldn’t bear to stay one day more inside that horrible place full of bad people. You were really going to miss Phasma,

“I’m sorry, Phasma. I can’t.” you said gently taking her hand out of your face and turning over your heels determined to leave the First Order for good.

“Y/N!” Phasma shouted but you tried your best to keep walking towards the near woods. Then she rose her voice again but not to call your name but your code, the combination of letters and numbers the First Order gave you. “Come back here. it’s an order from your Captain.” she commanded with a firm voice.

You stopped for a moment, long used to obey her orders then sighing you dropped your white helmet before you start walking again.

“Y/N!” she yelled as a lump started to take over her throat. Trying her best to bottle up her emotions Phasma replaced her helmet as if the shiny armor could protect her for the pain that was slowly taking over her chest. There could not be deserters, the Captain knew procedure for this situations though she was no pleased it was you who she had to kill. She rose her own blaster, ready to shoot directly to your head.

Captain Phasma, demanding leader of the First Order’s troops, she had lied and killed to get to her place, that same woman was unable to pull the trigger.

Lowering her gun she stared at you as your figure got lost between the trees until the darkness of the night devoured you completely. She felt her vision getting blurred as painful tears rolled down her face as she silently cried in secret beneath her chrome helmet.

In the distance, a pair of curious eyes observed carefully the scene between the Captain and the defector trooper, the man all dressed in black waited patiently in the darkness, a man everyone thought was gone. Kylo Ren awaited silently, eagerly waiting for the Captain to shoot and was very disappointed when she didn’t.

******

The Captain’s footsteps echoed down the hall as she approached to the command room as Kylo Ren had requested. The blonde woman walked with firm steps, cold and intimidating as her troops would describe her. Then she finally met the man in charge.

“Sir” she greeted. Kylo had his back turned to her as he contemplated a couple of files on a hologram table.

“Captain Phasma.” He said “How are your troops?”

“Ready to fight if that’s what you need” she answered in a neutral tone.

“And how are you feeling, Captain?” he asked, his question was like a surprise to her, it was absolutely not usual he would ask about her.

“I don’t know what you mean, Sir.” she said, then he finally turned around.

“I sense your pain, Captain.” he told Phasma “You may hide in that armor but I can see inside you, you miss her.”

“Who?” Phasma said.

“Y/T/N” he showed her an hologram of your face, it was your record the one he was watching and it made both the fury and the sadness built in Phasma. “You reported her deceased in battle.”

“I did”

“But she’s alive, isn’t she?” he said “I saw you in the woods, I know what happened.”

“You know nothing!” Phasma barked feeling again the pain in her chest for your betrayal.

“I know enough. Y/T/N, the best trooper in her battalion, never protested or disobeyed an order, you trained her well, Captain.” he said. Phasma clenched her fists trying to contain herself. “She’s a traitor.”

There was a silence and then he rose his voice again.

“A trooper with her knowledge can be very dangerous, especially in the Resistance” he added “And you let her go”

Phasma fought her desire to beat him to dead.

"Bring her back, Captain"

The tall woman stayed quiet for a moment, weighing her options. If he would find her first he would kill her and even if Phasma bring her the same thing would happen to Y/N, but if she refused, then not only you but also Phasma would die. There was not way out of this, all just because she couldn't shot you down, all of this because she cared just too much about you and now you were sentenced, she knew the First Order wouldn't stop until they find you, but at least she hoped she could find you first and hide you from them.

Their entire relationship is initially based off of his reluctant attention to their natural battle prowess. They meet up, spar, he almost cleaves off their head, they say “wHoa tHERE” and it’s just a vicious cycle of does he want me dead or not??

One day, though, Kylo is in a really bad mood. Like really bad. Like “everyone steer clear” bad, only Stormtrooper had a spar scheduled with him and what are they going to do, ignore it?

They wish they had.

This session turns into a full-on brawl, and Storm finds themselves dodging and ducking and weaving all over the place with alarm bells clanging in their head and the endless gratitude that while he could kill them with the training staff, at least it isn’t his lightsaber.

He actually lands a savage blow on their face before they can get him to calm down, and he at least has the presence of mind to agree to have a seat somewhere and cool off.

They don’t expect him to start talking, but he does. He vents about his destiny, his tutelage under Snoke, the pull to the light, the girl, Rey. Everything frustrates him, and he’s lost beneath it all.

Nothing is said about his sudden vulnerability. They suspect he’d kill them otherwise.

But he does take to ghosting up behind them and silently demanding a private audience, and they end up sitting together in some quiet corner of the base as he just… talks. No one listened, before. No one really cared.

This is how the real bond forms. Storm is patient and gives excellent advice, and he in turn begins stiltedly inquiring about their day, their last battle, their opinion on Hux.

“I’m a stormtrooper, Lord Ren. I’m not supposed to have opinions.” “You’re not supposed to think up viable strategies on your own, either.” “Touché.”

He shows his newfound regard for Storm in the uncomfortable way he shifts, looking at their still-ruined face from his tantrum on the mats. The bruises are fading on their own; their nose hasn’t healed properly - the medbays at the time were too full of the properly injured at the time.

Naturally, he’s indignant and harsh to mask his guilt. “Why haven’t you gone in for treatment?” he asks. They raise their hands, comfortable enough at this point to simply say, “Expendable,” like he should know this already. If anything, it upsets him more. He personally marches Storm down to the nearest medic and demands that their face be properly healed.

“Lord Ren -” “Kylo.” “Hm. Okay, Kylo -”

[kylo ren & stormtrooper!reader]

[continuation of this.]

“Again.”

The word sets you off like a thunderbolt, and you hit the ground with a similar force as the training staff cleaves the air savagely, just inches over your head. That wasn’t a training swing; that was an angry swing, a Kylo swing.

This arrangement is quickly becoming more and more natural, with you facing the dark knight of the First Order on the mats every other morning. Frankly, you don’t know if you regret it or not.

That’s what you get when you come across as being the holder of the secret of combat. Never mind that he seemed to believe it.

“Lord Ren!” you all but gasp, standing up with one hand on your knee and the other held up, palm out. Whoa, whoa, time. “That was –” Ridiculous? Over the top? Really, really close to a beheading? You bite your lip, considering. There are many things that a stormtrooper should not say to the apprentice of Kylo Ren, and you weigh your options.

Well. You sort of weigh your options.

Stars. What does it matter?

“Predictable,” you finish. His black-swathed posture stiffens, and you quickly explain, waving your empty, non-threatening palms at him again. “You… sir, I’ll be honest, I have very little to lose and I doubt you care for dishonesty. You’re always on the offensive the moment a fight breaks out, and you always burst in swinging at your opponent like they’re one of those – the sack things.”

Listen. Being one of the valueless foot soldiers of the First Order left you very little time for learning what things like piñatas were. You desperately hoped, for one foolish half-second, that he would just leave it, for once.

Of course not.

“The sack things.” Kylo’s voice is flat, flatter than before, and you grimace again. But – is his frame loosening? Is the tension at your near-insult receding, slowly? Huh.

“Yes, sir, the colorful things. People hit them at parties. They have food. Just…” You make a hopeless gesture as if you can wave away your lapse in vocabulary and be done with it. “They’re cool. I haven’t seen one.

“But battle isn’t like that, sir. And I know you’re a formidable warrior, and I know everyone fears your power. But we have to temper that ferocity with tactics, and that means…” Sighing, you massage the bridge of your nose, looking everywhere but at the mask he refuses to remove. “It means not rushing in to slice off your opponent’s extremities every single time. The rebels are the underdogs of the galaxy, sir, and they’ve adapted to their role. They have mastered defense against brutal attacks and the best way to end them is through subtlety. Because I would bet every second of my expendable life that no one will expect subtlety from Kylo Ren.”

The atmosphere in the training room is thick after your speech, and you realize, with a sinking feeling, that you’ve just tossed another underhanded insult at the man with the deadly glow-sword. Aren’t you smart.

At any rate, he hasn’t outstretched his hand for his saber just yet, and unless he plans on beating you to death with the staff in his hand… You’re in the clear? It isn’t that you haven’t had close calls in the weeks since you and the dark lord made the agreement, per se; just that his capacity for maturity still genuinely surprises you.

You almost smile fondly at the man who is likely ten years your senior.

Then he moves, straightening, and shifts back into the battle position he began in. As you realize which word is going to leave his mouth next, something in you hisses and shrivels up – but something else actually swells a little with something like pride.

Because Kylo Ren is impulsive, childish, and spiteful…

“Again.”