Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates

"Go, now—he's coming," Vera hissed, her voice tight with urgency, purple eyes locked on the live screen showing Syn descending the bridge.

Her bandaged arm trembled as she waved Aster off, each movement taut with strain she didn't care. "Move that fat ass of yours. Fast!."

"Yaya, fine and stop yelling you cunning bitch," Aster groaned, snatching her tray of popcorn with a dramatic eye roll.

A few kernels bounced off her tank top as she turned, exasperation radiating from every step. "Now I gotta hide 'til that ship returns back to the base—ugh, your plans suck."

Her blonde ponytail whipped behind her as she darted into the opposite corridor, vanishing just before the security feed showed Syn turning the corner.

Left alone, Vera exhaled slowly and slumped deeper into the sterile sheets of the medical bed.

The crisp fabric rustled as she shifted, adjusting the fall of her purple hair until it draped artfully over her one eye and a few scattered over her forehead.

She tugged the blanket higher, curling into herself just enough to look weak, delicate, vulnerable.

The bandages wrapped around her arms crinkled softly, white cotton stained faintly with dried blood—a visual cue of fragility that was anything but real.

The medic bay hummed around her, sterile and quiet, the beeping of machines the only sound as she slowed her breathing, eyelids fluttering shut just enough to feign weariness.

With an award deserving performance.

She waited.

The door hissed open.

Syn stepped in, his hazel eyes shadowed with concern. He nodded once to the doctor—a wiry man with round glasses, hunched over a datapad in the corner. The physician didn't speak, merely lifted a hand in silent approval, his gaze never quite meeting Syn's. An accomplice to the lie.

"Can I see her?" Syn asked, voice low, laced with something reverent.

The doctor waved him in.

Vera lay perfectly still, wrapped in blankets, her purple hair spilling over the pillow in disarray. Bandages soaked in faint blood, traced lines along her pale arms and forehead. Her weak face peeked through the blankets. Her eyes looked at him with a daze.

She looked totally opposite to the usual commanding and teasing Vera. A wreck.

"How're you doing?" Syn asked, his tone heavy with worry as he approached Vera's bed, his boots soft against the tiled floor. His dark hair was mussed from the cockpit's chaos, his fair cheeks still faintly flushed from victory, and his eyes searched her face, lingering on the bandages with a quiet ache.

Vera parted her lips, her voice barely a breath. "I'm… I'm fine. Just a little weak." She let her eyes flutter halfway open, her lashes casting soft shadows against pale skin, a lone strand of purple brushing her cheek.

Syn sank down onto the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped under his weight, and the soft shift of it made her heart skip—not from affection, but anticipation.

He reached for her gently, his fingers grazing the wild hair above her bandages, then tucked the stray lock behind her ear with a care so delicate it almost made her forget she was pretending.

Her bandaged arm stretched toward him, just enough to tremble, to look like effort.

She didn't even have to ask—Syn's expression tightened, and he leaned in without hesitation, pulling her into a slow, steady embrace, gentle, careful of her injuries. His arms wrapped around her, grounding, warm, his breath brushing the shell of her ear.

"Don't push yourself," he murmured, voice low, edged with concern.

Vera closed her eyes, leaning into the hug.

lub dub lub dub lub dub

She could feel his heartbeat through his navy shirt, steady and strong, mingling with the antiseptic scent and warmth of the medbay.

"You'll be fine," he whispered again, one hand rising to stroke her hair. "You just need to rest. Take it easy, okay?"

She nodded faintly against his chest, her expression the perfect picture of trust.

But beneath the surface, a grin tugged at her lips—small, sly, hidden by his shoulder.

Letting him hold her like this? Letting him dote on her, wrapped in a lie? Oh yes… this plan had perks.

And Vera loved it.

Totally worth the fall.

Vera's bandaged arms rested lightly on his back, her purple hair tangled with his, and she sunk in the moment—the warmth of his chest, the steady rhythm of his breath, the scent of cockpit sweat and sterilized air.

Her heart quietly thudding beneath layers of pretense and something dangerously close to affection.

Then Syn's voice broke through, still holding her, curious and calm:

"Why's there popcorn scattered everywhere?"

Fuck you, Aster.

Her grin froze, spine tensing ever so slightly. Her sharp eyes flicked toward the evidence—kernels glinting across the sheets like landmines.

She recovered in an instant.

"Oh—uh…" she murmured, keeping her voice low and fragile, "the doctor and I were watching your feed when you led the pirates to victory. He brought popcorn." A pause. "Got excited when the fighter ships led by Pako demolished the kingdom's 'Destroyer'—threw his arms up. Spilled some."

A lie, smooth and practiced.

She turned her head slightly, catching the doctor's eye with a glare that said: Play along, or You will wish you had played along.

The doctor flinched. His glasses caught the overhead light as he cleared his throat, turning awkwardly toward the wall. "I—I'm sorry about that," he stammered. "Bit carried away…"

Syn glanced over, one brow quirking, but then let it go, his concern easing. He looked back at Vera, his hand finding hers—steady and warm, his thumb gently brushing over the bandage.

"Aster'll return safely," he said, firm, confident. "We've changed position and sent out a recon to relay the new coordinates. She's smart—she'll find her way."

Vera's fingers curled around his, the motion soft, intimate. Her voice came quiet and sincere, the mask blending seamlessly with the heart beneath it. "Thank you for looking after the pirates when they needed you, Syn."

His cheeks flushed faintly, that shy grin surfacing like sunlight through clouds. "Hey—no need to thank me," he said. "I just did my job."

Their eyes met—his hazel, hers violet—and something warm and unspoken passed between them.

He didn't move away. Neither did she.

They sat there, side by side, hands entwined as the medic room hummed around them, a moment carved from chaos, delicate and fleeting.

---

The ship's corridors buzzed with post-victory energy, the hum of celebration spilling from the hangar as Pako sprinted through, her tan skin gleaming with sweat, her dark hair bouncing loose.

Her fighter's triumph still thrummed in her veins, and she was hell-bent on finding Syn—to reward him and herself in her own wild and romantic after party style.

Her boots pounded the steel, the medic room's door glinting ahead, when a sudden tug yanked her back.

A thick arm looped around her neck, hoisting her clean off the floor. Her feet kicked uselessly at the air, dangling like a stunned fish.

"You're going back to your room," came the growl—Aster's voice, deadly calm and full of warning. Her teal eyes sparked like a live wire, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her as she wrestled Pako midair.

"No, no, no—leave me alone! leave me alone!" Pako squawked, her tan hands clawing at Aster's arm. "I wanna see him! Syn! Syn, my sweet honey pie darling, I'm coming!"

Her screams echoed through the corridor like a siren.

"Shut up," Aster hissed, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Big mistake.

Pako bit her hand without mercy. Hard.

Aster yelped, recoiling, and that was all the opening Pako needed.

She swung and kicked Aster—once to the gut, once to the shin—then twisted hard, breaking free with a scrappy flip that toppled Aster to the floor in a stunned heap.

Pako bolted, her laughter wild and unhinged, boots hammering the floor as she tore toward the medic room, a tan blur of rebellion.

Behind her, Aster groaned, lying flat and breathless. "I hate this horny bitch," she muttered, dragging herself up and limping away into another room, before she got spotted by Syn.

The door hissed open with a mechanical hiss—and then chaos entered.

"Syn!" Pako's voice boomed through the sterile medic room, loud enough to make the instruments on the wall beep in protest. "Guess who's back—your little sin!"

She stood framed in the doorway, panting slightly, cheeks flushed from the sprint.

Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief, her cropped jacket hanging half open, sweat gleaming on her tan skin like war paint.

She didn't walk—she launched, her whole body a blur as she hurled herself across the room like a missile of manic affection.

Syn barely had time to blink.

"Pako—!" His hazel eyes widened, but a grin was already forming as he instinctively stepped away from Vera's bed, arms lifting just in time to catch the flying hurricane. "Good work out th—oomph!"

She crashed into him, legs locking around his waist with a tight grip, arms looping around his neck. He staggered back a step, boots skidding on the polished floor, only just keeping his balance as her weight hit like a torpedo.

"That was awesome, Pako," Syn said between breaths, steadying her with one hand at her back.

"Only a few fighters, and you brought down a whole damn 'Destroyer'. No casualties. You wrecked them."

"I know right," Pako purred, grinning ear to ear. "I'm amazing, I'm gorgeous, I'm basically a goddess of war in boots."

Her eyes danced with unspoken heat as she leaned in close. "Now," she whispered, "gimme some sugar."

Before Syn could react, her lips were on his—hot, demanding, and full of the reckless energy that defined her.

His grip tightened for balance as she kissed him hard, stealing the breath right out of him.