I LOVE Hunter From The Bad Batch @boredzum-671 - Tumblr Blog

Jul 3

Here is a Bad Batch x Reader!

I’ve always loved this show, but I’ve never been able to pick a favorite member—I love them all way too much! That’s why I wrote this 5-chapter fanfic, dedicating one chapter to each of the boys (excluding Omega, sorry sweetie!).

Just a heads-up: there will be smut in every chapter, one for each character.

I really hope you enjoy it!

Also, English isn’t my first language, so if you spot any mistakes, please don't hesitate to let me know!

And the remake of the meme is by me !

Warnings (for the whole fic) : Smut, Mdni (+18), afab reader, no mention of Y/n, piv, no protection used (wrap it before you tap it), bicep biting (because uugh... BICEPS), a bit of angst (with crosshair, mostly), mating press and pinning, almost public sex, getting caught, size kink, use of sextoys, oral (both recieving), ass slapping (kinda), sharing is caring, NO CLONECEST, handcuffs, alcohol consumption.

Let me know if I forgot any !

Part 2

Hunter remembered the fear like it was still curling in his chest.

He remembered standing in the doorway of that cramped med clinic on Ord Mantell, watching Omega shiver under a thin blanket. Her skin had taken on a grey color that made him think of things he didn't want to think about. Things like empty cradles and soldiers who never came home.

The local medic had already told him there was nothing more they could do. Something about the fever being too advanced, the infection too deep for their limited supplies.

Hunter had looked at Crosshair first. Then at Wrecker. Echo had been pacing near the door, his mechanical hand clenching and unclenching in a rhythm that matched Hunter's own heartbeat.

"I'm not leaving her here," he'd said.

Nobody argued.

The frantic search happened through back alleys and shadow markets, through the kind of places where people didn't ask questions but charged triple for answers. Hunter remembered the stench of burning oil and rotting fruit. The way his feet had ached from hours of walking. The desperation that made his enhanced senses sharper than they'd been in months.

That was how he found you.

You weren't advertising yourself as a doctor. Just a woman with steady hands who knew how to handle a fever that wouldn't break. Someone who'd lost your practice to Imperial requisitions and now worked out of a storage room with a cot and a battery-powered sterilizer.

Hunter remembered watching you work. The way your fingers found Omega's pulse without hesitation. How you mixed compounds by eye, never measuring, always precise. Your voice when you spoke to Omega, low and calm, like you'd done this a thousand times before.

Something in Hunter's chest had loosened then. Just a little.

The fever broke six hours later. Omega opened her eyes, confused and thirsty, and Hunter had to turn away so nobody would see his face.

Now, a week later, he stood in the doorway of the Marauder's tiny galley, watching you eat a ration bar. The ship hummed around you both, that familiar vibration that had become his home for more years than he cared to count.

"You don't have to keep thanking me," you said, catching his gaze.

He hadn't realized he was staring.

"I know." He stepped into the galley, the space suddenly feeling smaller. "But I'm going to anyway."

You set the ration bar down. It crumbled on the wrapper.

Hunter's voice dropped, the way it always did when he meant something. "I thought she was going to die. That night. Before I found you."

The words hung in the air between you. He didn't usually talk about things like this. Feelings. Fears. The kind of softness that got people killed.

But something about you made him want to.

"I'm glad I was there," you said.

He nodded and sat across from you. The table was barely wide enough for two plates. He could smell your soap, something floral and cheap, and underneath it, the faint scent of antiseptic that clung to your clothes.

"So what's your story?" he asked. "How does a medic end up on Ord Mantell with no patients and no way off?"

You shrugged, but he caught the way your shoulders tensed. "Bad luck. Bad timing. The Empire doesn't like independent practitioners."

"They don't like anyone who isn't them."

"That too."

He let the silence settle before asking about something lighter. "What made you choose medicine?"

You thought about it, chewing slowly. "I like fixing things. People mostly. They're more complicated than machines, but the satisfaction is better when they walk out on their own."

Hunter smiled, a rare thing that felt strange on his face. "Omega's walking now."

"She is."

He leaned back, studying you. The way you held yourself, careful and contained. The way your eyes scanned a room before you relaxed. A habit you shared with him, he realized.

"What about your tattoo?" you asked, nodding toward his skull face.

He glanced down at it, then back at you. "Nothing mysterious. I just thought it looked cool."

"You're telling me the leader of Clone Force 99 picked a tattoo based on aesthetics?"

"Sometimes that's all there is to it."

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. Hunter felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

"It goes further, actually," he said, gesturing vaguely toward his torso. "Covers most of my chest. Stops somewhere around my hip."

Your gaze flickered down, then back up. A flush crept across your cheeks.

"You could see it sometime," he said, letting his voice dip lower. "Find out exactly where it stops. Private like."

Your breath caught. He heard it, that tiny hitch, and felt a warmth spread through his chest. Your heart was beating faster now. His senses told him everything he needed to know.

"I—" You cleared your throat. "That's forward."

Hunter shrugged, still smiling. "Even if it's not a reg, I'm still a clone. We don't do subtle."

He stood, leaving you there with your half-eaten ration bar and your crimson cheeks. At the door, he turned back.

"Think about it."

Two hours later, you were sitting at Omega's bedside, watching her sleep.

The girl had been doing better. Her color had returned, her appetite was slowly coming back. She'd spent most of the morning trailing after Wrecker, asking questions about everything he was doing.

But now she was awake, blinking at you with tired eyes.

"Who are you?"

You leaned forward. "I'm a medic. Your brothers brought me on board because they were worried about you."

Omega processed this slowly. "You're the one who helped me?"

"Yes."

She smiled, a small thing, but genuine. "Good. I'm glad you're here. It's nice to have another girl on the crew."

Something in your chest tightened. "Thank you."

Omega sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Is Hunter worried about me?"

"He was. He still is, probably. That's what brothers do."

She nodded, then swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I should go see the others."

You helped her stand, steadying her when she wobbled. She walked toward the main cabin, her steps growing surer with every stride.

Through the open door, you watched her find Wrecker. He scooped her up like she weighed nothing, spinning her around while she laughed. Echo joined them, his usual reserve cracking as he ruffled her hair.

They looked like a family. A broken, scarred, beautiful family.

You stepped back, wanting to give them space, and walked straight into something solid.

Strong hands caught your shoulders before you could stumble.

"Careful there."

Hunter's voice, low and amused, right behind you. His chest was warm against your back. His breath stirred the hair near your ear.

You spun around, heart hammering. "Sorry. I wasn't looking."

"Clearly." He didn't let go. His hands stayed on your shoulders, thumbs brushing against the fabric of your shirt. "You alright?"

"Fine. Great. Perfect."

The words came out too fast. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Come talk to me," he said. "In my bunk."

Every nerve in your body fired at once. "Your bunk?"

"My room. For talking." He paused. "Unless you want it to be something else."

You didn't answer. Couldn't. Your throat had closed up.

He released your shoulders slowly, like he was savoring the moment, then turned and walked down the corridor without waiting for your reply. And of course you followed.

His room was smaller than you'd expected. A bunk, a locker, a shelf bolted to the wall. On that shelf sat a collection of objects that seemed out of place in a soldier's quarters: a crumpled drawing of what looked like a loth-cat, a bracelet made of woven string, a small carved bantha that had seen better days.

Omega's work, you guessed.

Hunter noticed your gaze. "She makes things. Gives them to all of us."

"That's sweet."

"It is." He gestured to the bunk. "Sit."

You sat. The mattress dipped under your weight, and he settled beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.

"I wanted to talk about something," he said.

Your stomach dropped. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine. Better than fine." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, I'm grateful for what you did for Omega. We all are. But I need to be honest with you."

"About what?"

He met your eyes, and his gaze was steady. Serious. "We're enemies of the Empire. All five of us. Every job we take puts us deeper on their radar. I don't want to push too far with your generosity. I don't want to put you in danger."

You held his gaze. "I know what I signed up for."

"Do you?" He leaned closer. "In two days, we're stopping on a civilized planet. If you want, in four days, I can have you back on Ord Mantell. Back where we found you."

Your heart clenched. "What if I don't want to go back?"

"Then you stay. But I need you to choose. Consciously. Not because you feel obligated."

You thought about the empty med clinic. The patients who'd stopped coming. The Empire agents who'd knocked on your door twice already, asking questions you'd deflected.

"I'll stay," you said. "For now."

"Good." He exhaled. "I don't want you to feel trapped."

"I don't."

He shifted closer, and his hand landed on your thigh. Warm. Heavy. Deliberate.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you want," he said. "Whatever you need, we'll figure it out."

Your skin tingled where he touched you. Heat spread up your leg, into your stomach, your chest.

"You're blushing," he said. "Your heart is racing."

His thumb traced a circle on your thigh. "I can hear it. Smell it. I know exactly what I do to you."

Mortification and arousal tangled in your gut. "That's.. you're..."

"It would be a shame if you left so soon." His voice dropped, rough and warm. "I haven't had nearly enough time to get more reactions out of you."

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, fixed on you like you were the only thing in the room.

He lifted his hand from your thigh and cupped your chin. His thumb traced your lower lip, feather-soft.

And then he kissed you.

It started gentle, almost questioning. His lips moved against yours, testing, tasting. You parted your mouth without thinking, and he took the invitation, pressing his tongue against yours.

Heat flooded through you. Your hands found his hair, threading through the strands, and he groaned, a sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours.

He deepened the kiss, pulling you closer, and you let him guide you back onto the mattress. His weight settled over you, straddling your hips, his hands roaming your sides.

"You have no idea," he murmured against your lips, "how long I've wanted—"

A knock.

Both of you froze.

"Hunter?" Omega's voice filtered through the door. "Have you seen the medic? I can't find her anywhere."

You looked at Hunter. He looked at you.

Your breath came fast. His hair was tousled, his lips swollen. He looked completely undone, and somehow that made everything worse.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

"Give me a second, Omega," he called, his voice steady despite the chaos. "She's probably in the refresher. I'll be right out."

"Okay!"

Her footsteps retreated. Hunter stayed where he was, still laughing, his breath warm against your skin.

"That was close," you whispered.

"Too close." He kissed your forehead, lingering. "We're not done."

He rolled off you, stood, and straightened his shirt. At the door, he looked back, his gaze burning.

"Later," he promised.

And then he was gone.

You took a moment to collect yourself after the door slid shut.

Your heart was still pounding. Your lips tingled from the kiss. The taste of him lingered, mixed with the stale air of his quarters. You pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the rapid thump under your ribs, and took a slow breath. Then another. Then you stood, smoothed your shirt, and walked out into the corridor.

Crosshair was waiting.

He stood against the wall, arms crossed, his toothpick shifting from one side of his mouth to the other. The lighting in the corridor caught the sharp angles of his face, making him look even more gaunt than usual. He didn't say anything at first. Just watched you with those narrow eyes that seemed to see straight through walls.

You stopped. "Crosshair."

He pushed off the wall, falling into step beside you as you started walking. His presence was cold, deliberate. You could feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a broken engine.

"You should leave," he said.

The words landed flat. No preamble. No softening. You kept walking. "Excuse me?"

"At the next stop. Get off the ship and don't look back." He matched your pace easily, his boots silent where yours scuffed the deck plates. "It's better for you. We're all criminals. The Empire has us on every watch list in the galaxy."

"I know what I signed up for."

He stopped walking. You stopped too, turning to face him. His expression hadn't changed, but something in his jaw tightened.

"No," he said, "you don't. You're a civilian. You have no training, no augmentation. If we get pinned down, you'll be dead weight. A liability." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "And Hunter doesn't need a weakness that obvious. None of us do."

The words stung. You felt them settle somewhere deep, like a splinter you couldn't dig out.

"I'm a medic," you said. "I can help."

"You can get yourself killed. And then he'll blame himself forever." Crosshair's eyes flicked down the corridor, toward the shared space where laughter echoed. "You think he can afford that? Any of us can afford that?"

You didn't answer.

He held your gaze for a long moment, then turned and walked away without another word. His silhouette disappeared around a corner, leaving you alone in the humming corridor.

You stood there, breathing. Then you walked toward the sound of voices.

The shared space was warm, cluttered with people and equipment. Wrecker sat on the floor, legs crossed, while Omega perched on a crate beside him. She was showing him something on a datapad, her small fingers tracing the screen. Tech and Echo were hunched over an open panel near the cockpit, wires spilling out like colorful entrails. Tech muttered something about voltage regulators, and Echo handed him a tool without looking.

You settled onto a bench near the edge of the room, keeping your distance.

Omega noticed you almost immediately. Her face lit up.

"Medic!" She hopped off the crate and padded over, her bare feet slapping against the metal floor. "Want to see what I found? It's a picture of a loth-cat. I think it's a baby one."

She thrust the datapad into your hands. The image showed a blurry holo of a small, fluffy creature with oversized ears. It was chewing on a cable.

"Cute," you said.

"Right? I want to get one someday. Hunter said maybe, when we have a place that stays still."

Wrecker lumbered over, grinning. "A loth-cat? Those things shed everywhere. I knew a guy on Corellia who had one. Got hair in his food for three years."

"Three years?" Omega's eyes went wide.

"At least."

She giggled, and something in your chest loosened. Crosshair's words still echoed, but this—this was easier. Soft. You let yourself sink into it.

Dinner came in the form of ration packs and reconstituted protein. Wrecker heated everything in the galley's tiny oven, humming something off-key. Tech and Echo joined them briefly, but Tech was still muttering about the power coupling issue, and Echo followed after him with a resigned shrug.

Omega sat next to you, her knee brushing yours as she ate.

"How old are you?" she asked between bites.

"Old enough to have been working for a while," you said.

"What kind of medicine do you like best? Emergency stuff, or the slow kind?"

"I like fixing things. People mostly. Emergency stuff gives you a rush, but the steady work feels better."

She nodded seriously. "I think I'd like the steady kind. But maybe emergency sometimes."

"That's a good balance." She chewed thoughtfully, then asked, "Are you single?"

The question caught you off guard. You felt heat rise to your cheeks before you could stop it.

"Yes," you said.

And you couldn't help it. Your gaze drifted across the room, searching, and found Hunter leaning against the doorframe of the galley. His arms were crossed, but his eyes were warm, and the corner of his mouth curved into that knowing smirk. He'd heard everything. Of course he had.

Then your eyes moved past him, into the shadowed corner near the storage lockers.

Crosshair sat there, cleaning his rifle with slow, deliberate strokes. His face was a mask, but his movements were too precise, too controlled. He looked pissed. The kind of pissed that simmered under the surface, ready to boil.

You looked away quickly.

Omega was still watching you, her head tilted. "Why are you blushing?"

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Wrecker, look, she's blushing."

Wrecker squinted at you. "Yeah, you're pretty red. You feeling okay? Need some water?"

"I'm fine." You stood, gathering your tray. "Just tired. Long day."

Omega set down her fork. "Can you put me to bed? Hunter usually does it, but he's busy."

You glanced at Hunter. He was watching you, his smirk still in place. He gave a slight nod, almost imperceptible.

"Sure," you said. "Lead the way."

Omega took your hand and pulled you down the corridor, past the bunks, past the refresher, to a small door near the end. Her room was tidy, a single bunk with a faded blanket and a shelf of trinkets. She climbed in, and you tucked the blanket around her.

"Will you stay for a bit?" she asked, her voice already softening.

"Just until you fall asleep."

She smiled and closed her eyes. Within minutes, her breathing evened out.

You sat there for a while, watching her face relax. Then you stood, careful not to make noise, and stepped back into the corridor.

Hunter was waiting.

He leaned against the wall opposite the door, his arms crossed, his eyes dark in the dim light. He didn't say anything. Just pushed off the wall and stepped close, close enough that his breath stirred your hair.

"I'd love to have you get me to bed too," he whispered, his voice low and rough.

Your face burned. Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

He smiled, slow and satisfied, then turned and walked away. You watched his back disappear into the shadows of the corridor, your heart hammering, your legs barely steady.

You made it to the refresher on autopilot. Closed the door. Leaned against the sink, staring at your reflection. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes too bright. You looked like someone who'd just been kissed within an inch of her life. You splashed cold water on your face, took a breath, then another.

When you stepped out, the corridor was empty. You passed the shared living space on the way to Hunter's room, and through the open door, you caught a glimpse of Crosshair. He was still sitting in the corner, his rifle reassembled, his eyes fixed on you.

You held his gaze for a second. Then you looked away and kept walking.

The door to Hunter's quarters was ahead. You stopped in front of it, your hand hovering over the panel. You could hear his heartbeat through the metal, steady and patient.

You knocked softly.

The door slid open.

He stood there, shirtless, his tattoo curling across his chest and down his hip. The light from the corridor caught the lines of his body, the scars, the muscle.

He looked at you, and his eyes darkened.

"Come in."

You stepped inside, and the door closed behind you.

He didn't move. He just studied you, his gaze traveling from your face to your hands to the way you were holding yourself. His lips curved into a smirk.

"Your heart's racing," he said. "Loud enough to wake the whole ship."

"Shut up."

He laughed, low and warm, and stepped closer. His hand came up, cupping your cheek. His thumb traced your jaw, feather-light.

"You're so beautiful when you blush."

And he kissed you.

Soft at first, then deeper. His tongue brushed your lower lip, and you parted your mouth, letting him in. His other hand found your hip, pulling you against him. You felt the heat of his skin through your clothes, the hard planes of his body.

Your hands found his chest. The tattoo was smooth under your fingertips, warm even. He sighed into your mouth, a sound that made your knees weak.

He pulled back just far enough to whisper, "I really want to take off your shirt."

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

He did it slowly, fingers brushing your sides as he lifted the fabric over your head. It fell somewhere on the floor. He stepped back, just enough to look at you, and his breath caught.

"Stars," he murmured.

Then he pushed you gently onto the mattress. You landed on your back, looking up at him as he climbed over you, his weight settling on your hips. He lowered his head, his mouth finding your right breast. His tongue circled your nipple, then he took it into his mouth, sucking gently.

You gasped, your back arching. His hand moved to your left breast, fingers finding your other nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. He alternated between the two, licking, sucking, pinching until you were moaning, your hands fisting in the sheets.

He groaned against your skin, the vibration sending sparks through you.

You felt him rock his hips against yours. The pressure was unmistakable. He was hard, and he was big. The thought made heat pool low in your stomach.

He lifted his head, and you reached out, tracing the tattoo. Black lines curled over his collarbone, down his sternum, across his ribs. You followed them with your fingers, watching his muscles twitch under your touch.

He unfastened his pants and pushed them down. Then yours. Then he settled over you again, skin to skin, and the sensation was overwhelming.

He entered you slowly.

You both moaned. He filled you completely, stretching you, and you felt every inch. He paused, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours.

"You feel incredible," he breathed.

"So do you."

He started to move. Slow at first, deep strokes that made your vision blur. Each thrust hit a spot that sent pleasure rippling through your body. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He covered your mouth with his hand, his eyes glinting.

"Quiet," he whispered. "You'll wake Omega."

You nodded, muffling your sounds against his palm. He kissed you then, swallowing your moans, his tongue moving in time with his hips.

The rhythm built. He turned you onto your belly, pulling your hips up, and entered you from behind. This angle was different, deeper. He found a spot that made you cry out, and he pressed his arm around your head, his bicep against your throat.

"Bite if you need to," he murmured.

You did. You sank your teeth into his forearm, muffling the sounds that wanted to tear out of you. He moved faster, harder, his breath ragged in your ear.

His thrusts grew sloppy. He buried himself inside you, and you felt him pulse, felt the warmth spread. He collapsed over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his heart hammering against your back.

After a moment, he rolled off you. You lay side by side, both breathing hard, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex.

He reached over and pulled you close, spooning you from behind. His arm wrapped around your belly, drawing you against him. His lips pressed to the back of your head.

"Stay," he whispered.

You didn't answer. You just closed your eyes and let the warmth of him pull you down into sleep.

You woke to the sound of Omega's laughter, distant and bright. It filtered through the metal walls like sunlight through blinds.

For a moment, you didn't move. Your body was heavy, weighed down by sleep and the warmth of a bed that wasn't yours. The sheets smelled like Hunter. Like sweat and soap and something deeper, something you couldn't name.

Then you shifted, and the ache settled into your muscles.

Everything came back in a rush. His hands. His mouth. The way he'd pressed you into the mattress like you were something precious. Heat crawled up your neck as you pushed yourself upright.

The bunk was empty beside you. The sheets were cool where he'd lain.

You looked around, and your gaze caught on a folded pile of fabric near the edge of the bed. Clean clothes. A soft grey shirt and dark pants. You reached for them, and as you unfolded the shirt, you noticed the collar. It rose high, almost to your chin.

You slipped the clothes on. They fit well, maybe a little loose in the shoulders. The collar sat snug against your throat.

You caught your reflection in the small mirror bolted to the wall. The shirt covered everything. Every mark. Every bruise. You turned your head and saw the edge of a dark spot peeking out near your jaw, just below your ear. You adjusted the collar. Covered.

You left the room.

The corridor hummed with the ship's usual vibrations. The lights were dim, set to whatever cycle Tech had programmed for the day cycle. You followed the sound of voices to the shared space.

Wrecker spotted you first. His face split into a grin.

"Look who finally woke up," he said, his voice booming. "Thought you were gonna sleep through the whole rotation. Even I don't sleep that long."

Heat flooded your cheeks. "I was tired."

"Tired." He laughed, slapping his knee. "Sure you were. Come sit. Omega's been asking about you."

Omega appeared from behind Wrecker, her eyes bright. "Do you want to play a game? I found one about constellations. You have to match the stars to the right names."

You opened your mouth to answer.

"She doesn't have time for games."

Crosshair's voice cut through the warmth. He stood in the doorway leading to the cockpit, his arms crossed, his toothpick in place. His eyes were fixed on you.

"She has to get ready. We're dropping her off at the next planet."

Omega's face fell. "What? No. She's not leaving."

"She is."

"I'm not—" you started.

"You have a lot to do," Crosshair said, talking over you. "Your things need to be packed. Better start now."

Omega grabbed your hand. "You can't go. You just got here. And you're still tired. You should rest."

Wrecker nodded, his grin gone. "Yeah, she's right. You look like you need a break. Stay."

Echo leaned against the bulkhead, his mechanical hand still. "She has a point. No reason to rush things."

Tech glanced up from his datapad. "Statistically, a rest period of at least twelve hours after recovery from significant illness is recommended. Omega's assessment is medically sound."

You looked around the room. They were all watching you. All waiting for your answer. All except Hunter, who was nowhere to be seen.

"I still have to think about it," you said.

Crosshair grunted. He held your gaze for a long moment, his jaw tight. Then he turned and walked out of the space without another word.

You excused yourself.

The room they'd given you was small, tucked near the rear of the ship. A bunk, a locker, a small desk. Your bag sat on the floor, half-unpacked. You closed the door behind you and leaned against it.

Your throat tightened. Your eyes burned.

You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyelids and breathed. Once. Twice. Three times.

A soft knock.

You dropped your hands. "Who is it?"

"It's Hunter."

His voice, low and familiar. You crossed the room in three steps and opened the door.

He stood in the corridor, his hair slightly disheveled, his eyes scanning your face. He took in your reddened eyes, the way you were holding yourself, and something in his expression softened.

"Crosshair?" he asked.

You nodded.

He stepped inside. The door slid shut behind him. He sat on the edge of the bunk, looking up at you.

"He's acting like this because he cares," Hunter said. "About his family. About the squad. He doesn't want anyone getting hurt. When he asks you to leave, he's trying to protect everyone. You included."

"It doesn't feel like he's trying to protect me," you said. "It feels like he's trying to protect them. I'm just collateral."

Hunter's mouth quirked. "That's his particular way of expressing concern. It's not pretty. But it's honest."

You sat beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight.

"If you decide to stay," he said, "you should get ready. He won't make it easy."

"I know."

He passed an arm around you, pulling you into a side hug. His hand rested on your shoulder, warm and solid. You leaned into him, letting yourself feel the steadiness of his presence. His thumb traced a slow circle on your arm.

You stayed like that for a while, breathing in sync.

Then you pushed yourself to your feet. "I'm going to talk to him."

Hunter looked up at you, something like pride flickering in his eyes. He stood, and before he left, he tapped your shoulder once. A small gesture. Enough.

"Good luck," he said.

He stepped out and turned toward the cockpit, where Tech's voice was already muttering about power converters.

You walked back to the shared space.

Crosshair had moved. He sat near the storage lockers, a holomap projected in front of him. Planets and routes rotated in blue light, tracing paths through the galaxy.

You stopped a few feet away. "Can we talk?"

He didn't look up. "I'm busy."

"Just for a minute."

A pause. He deactivated the holomap and turned his head. His eyes were flat. "Fine."

He followed you to a quiet corner near the galley. You leaned against the counter. He stood with his arms crossed, his weight on one foot.

"I want to stay," you said.

He didn't react.

"And I want you to give me a chance." You took a breath. "Would you still be this set on me leaving if I proved myself? If I learned how to fight?"

He rolled his shoulders, a slow, deliberate motion. "It could change my judgment. Maybe."

"Then teach me."

He stared at you. A beat of silence.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a waste of time. You're a medic. You don't need to know how to hold a blaster."

"I'm staying for at least a month," you said. "If you train me, it's a win for both of us. I'd be less of a liability. And you'd have time to decide if I'm worth keeping around."

His eyes narrowed.

"You said yourself that your judgment could change," you pressed. "So give me a month. If at the end of it you still think I'm not worth staying, I'll leave. No arguments."

He studied you. The toothpick moved from one side of his mouth to the other.

"Fine," he said. "One month."

Relief flooded through you, tempered by the edge in his voice.

"But I'm not a gentle instructor," he said. "I don't have patience for failure. If you can't keep up, don't expect me to slow down for you."

You nodded. "Understood."

He turned and walked away, his boots silent on the deck plates.

You watched him go, your heart still hammering, but your feet planted firm.

I'm publishing a new part every day !

So part 2 is tomorrow~

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