wizards in winter
summary: You’re freezing during an outdoor patrol on a snowy world, and Hunter notices before you say anything. word count: 4.0k+ pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x fem!reader notes: me??? writing for hunter in the year 2025??? it's been a year since i wrote for him or any of the bad batch so this was a nice return to my roots. writing this got me literally giggling and blushing and kicking my feet. also, consider this my (late) entry for dincember, hosted by @dindjarindiaries. i did the prompts for week 1 - snow, cold, gloves. hope y'all enjoy!!! warnings/tags: no use of y/n, the team - hunter, echo, tech (because i said so!!! tech lives!!!), wrecker, and omega, some sort of mission on a snowy planet, wrecker is a little shit, fluff, soft!hunter, omega is a cutie pie, not proofread 12 days of christmas masterlist
The ramp lowers with a hiss of hydraulics, and the cold hits immediately. It isn’t gentle or gradual. It slams into you like a living thing, sharp and invasive, forcing its way through layers of fabric and armor with a biting persistence that makes your breath catch in your throat. Snow stretches out in every direction, pale and untouched except for the faint marks left by the ship’s landing struts. The sky hangs low and heavy, clouds thick with the promise of more snowfall.
You step down after Hunter, boots crunching into packed ice, and already your fingers feel wrong inside your gloves. Stiff. Numb at the tips, even though you’d sworn they were fine back on the Marauder.
“Atmospheric temperature is well below the local average,” Tech says, adjusting his goggles as his scanner hums to life. “Approximately twelve degrees colder than last year’s seasonal reports.”
Wrecker lets out a loud laugh, steam puffing from his mouth. “Feels great! Beats melting in armor any day.”
Echo shakes his head, though there’s a faint curve to his mouth. “Give it an hour.”
Omega hops down last, bundled up and bright-eyed despite the cold. She looks around with open wonder, boots sinking slightly into the snow. “It’s beautiful,” she says, breath fogging in front of her. “Do you think it’s always like this?”
“Unlikely,” Tech replies. “Statistically speaking, prolonged storms of this magnitude—”
Hunter lifts a hand, quieting him as his helmet tilts subtly, scanning the horizon. You know the look by now. Focused. Alert. Every sense tuned outward. “Let’s move,” he says. “We’ll sweep the perimeter and see what those readings were about.”
You nod along with the rest of them and fall into step as the group fans out, your boots crunching rhythmically against the snow. The wind cuts harder once you’re clear of the ship, slipping through seams you didn’t even realize existed. You tuck your chin down slightly, breathing slow and steady, refusing to let it show on your face.
You’re fine. You’ve handled worse than a little cold. Still, your shoulders tense when another gust rolls through, stronger than the last, and you shove your hands deeper into your pockets between steps. The snow reflects the light back up at you, bright enough to sting your eyes, and the silence of the place presses in. No wildlife. No distant machinery. Just wind and white and the soft hum of Tech’s scanner somewhere behind you.
Hunter slows half a step, just enough that you nearly bump into him. “Formation,” he says evenly, though his eyes flick sideways instead of forward.
You adjust without comment, moving slightly to his side as the patrol spreads out more deliberately. Wrecker lumbers ahead, breaking through drifts like they’re nothing, while Echo keeps Omega close and Tech mutters to himself as data scrolls across his screen.
You tell yourself you don’t notice Hunter angling his body to block the worst of the wind when it kicks up again. You definitely don’t think about how the space beside him feels warmer, even through armor and gear.
Your fingers ache now, a deep, pulsing cold that crawls up your knuckles. You flex them slowly, once, twice, keeping the movement small so no one comments. The last thing you want is to be told to turn back before the mission even starts.
Hunter glances over again, this time lingering. His brow furrows almost imperceptibly beneath the bandana, and his head tilts, like he’s listening to something only he can hear. “You good?” he asks, casual on the surface, but there’s an edge beneath it.
You look up at him, forcing a smile that you hope passes for normal. “Yeah. Just cold.”
The word betrays you a little. Your voice comes out tighter than you expect, breath hitching at the end. You clear your throat quickly and keep walking, eyes fixed on the terrain ahead. “Copy that,” he says, but he doesn’t look convinced.
Snow crunches underfoot as the patrol continues, the wind howling low across the plain. Somewhere behind you, Omega laughs at something Wrecker says, her voice bright against the cold, and for a moment you wish you could feel it the way she seems to. Unbothered. Warm.
Instead, you focus on putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring the numbness creeping steadily upward, unaware that Hunter has already noticed far more than you intended to give away.
The terrain shifts as you move farther from the Marauder, the snow growing deeper and less compacted. Each step takes a little more effort than the last, boots sinking just enough to drag at your legs. The wind doesn’t let up. If anything, it sharpens, sweeping across the open plain and cutting into exposed skin with deliberate cruelty.
Hunter adjusts the formation with quiet hand signals, spreading everyone out while keeping sightlines clear. Wrecker pushes ahead without trouble, leaving a messy trail of footprints behind him, while Tech pauses every few meters to scan the area, his breath fogging up his goggles before he impatiently wipes them clear.
“Readings are still fluctuating,” Tech says, frowning at his datapad. “There’s an energy spike somewhere nearby, but it’s inconsistent. Almost rhythmic.”
“Like machinery?” Echo asks, glancing toward a low ridge in the distance.
“Possibly,” Tech replies. “Though the output doesn’t match any standard—”
Another gust of wind slams into you, stronger than the rest. It steals the breath from your lungs and sends a shiver down your spine that you can’t quite suppress this time. Your shoulders hitch before you catch yourself, jaw tightening as you force your breathing back into something steady.
Hunter notices. He doesn’t say anything at first. He just slows his pace again, subtle enough that no one else comments, until you’re walking directly beside him. His presence is solid and grounding, his stride steady, and you find yourself unconsciously matching it just to stay upright against the wind. “You’re lagging,” he says quietly, eyes still forward.
“I’m not,” you answer immediately, a little too fast. You hate how defensive it sounds, so you soften it. “The snow’s deeper here.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
You glance up at him despite yourself. His gaze flicks down for just a second, sharp and assessing, before returning to the horizon. It makes your chest tighten in a way you don’t quite understand.
Your fingers are properly numb now. Not just cold, but that deep, aching numbness that makes everything feel clumsy and distant. You flex them again inside your gloves, trying to coax sensation back, and nearly stumble when your foot catches on uneven ground.
Hunter’s hand shoots out without hesitation, gripping your forearm and steadying you before you can fall. “You alright?” he asks, voice low.
You nod, pulling your arm back a bit too quickly. “Yeah. Just didn’t see the dip.”
He doesn’t argue, but his grip lingers a second longer than necessary before he lets go. The warmth from his touch bleeds through the fabric of your sleeve, startling in contrast to the cold, and you have to resist the urge to lean back into it.
Ahead of you, Wrecker turns and calls out, “hey, Sarge! There’s a drop-off up here. Looks like the land slopes down toward that ridge.”
Hunter raises two fingers in acknowledgment. “Copy that. Hold position.”
The team slows to a stop, spreading out instinctively as they assess the terrain. You plant your feet and try not to sway, focusing on the horizon while the cold seeps deeper into your bones. Your breath comes out in thin, controlled puffs, but your teeth chatter once before you can stop them.
Hunter hears it. He turns fully toward you this time, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You said you were fine.”
You huff out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “I am. It’s just colder than I expected.”
“That wasn’t the question,” he says.
You hesitate, just long enough for him to read the answer in the pause. The truth is written all over you if someone knows how to look. The tension in your shoulders. The way you keep curling your fingers like you’re trying to wake them up. The faint tremor in your breathing that you can’t quite control anymore.
Omega’s voice cuts in before you can respond. She jogs back from where Echo’s standing, boots kicking up little sprays of snow as she skids to a stop in front of you.
“Are you cold?” she asks, concern creasing her brow.
You smile at her, trying to keep it light. “I’m okay. I promise.”
She doesn’t look convinced, and neither does Hunter.
“Tech,” Hunter says, without taking his eyes off you, “how long until that next scan finishes?”
“Approximately three minutes,” Tech replies. “Assuming no further interference.”
“Good,” Hunter says. “We’ll pause here.”
Wrecker grins. “Break time already? Nice.”
“It’s tactical,” Hunter adds flatly.
You know better, but you don’t call him on it. Instead, you shift your weight and try to shake some life back into your hands. It doesn’t help much. The cold feels stubborn now, settled deep, and the longer you stand still the worse it gets.
Hunter steps closer, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours when the wind surges again. This time, he angles his body deliberately, blocking you from the worst of it. His presence cuts the cold just enough to make a difference, and you hate how much relief you feel. “Next time,” he says quietly, so only you can hear, “don’t wait until it’s this bad to say something.”
You swallow, throat tight. “I didn’t want to slow everyone down.”
His jaw clenches at that, something like frustration flickering across his expression. “You’re part of the team. That includes knowing when to speak up.”
You nod, even though the words settle heavily in your chest. He’s right, and you know it, but knowing doesn’t make it easier to admit weakness out loud.
The scan finishes with a soft chime, Tech calling out new data, and the patrol prepares to move again. As you start forward, Hunter stays close, matching your pace step for step, his attention divided between the terrain ahead and the quiet, undeniable truth he’s already picked up on.
You might not have said anything, but he knows now. And he isn’t going to ignore it. The patrol resumes, but the rhythm is different now.
Hunter keeps the pace slower without announcing it, subtle enough that Wrecker doesn’t complain and Tech doesn’t comment on inefficiency. The ridge looms closer, its shadow stretching long across the snow, and the wind changes direction as you approach it. Instead of cutting straight at you, it funnels between the rock formations, sharp and unpredictable, slipping through gaps in armor and fabric alike.
You try to focus on the mission. You really do. You listen to Tech’s muttered analysis, to Echo’s quiet updates as he checks their rear, to Omega’s soft questions about the terrain. Still, the cold keeps tugging at your awareness, demanding attention no matter how hard you push it aside.
Your steps feel heavier now, like your boots are filled with lead. The numbness in your fingers has crept into your palms, dull and uncomfortable, and when you curl your hands into fists, it takes real effort to make them move.
Hunter notices all of it. He doesn’t need to look this time. The shift in your breathing is enough, shallow and measured in a way that tells him you’re conserving warmth. He can hear your pulse, faster than it should be for a simple patrol, and the faint hitch every time a stronger gust hits you square in the chest. “Echo,” he says over the comm, “take Omega and swing a little wider. I want eyes on that slope.”
“Copy,” Echo replies immediately.
Omega hesitates, glancing back at you. “Be careful,” she says, earnest and worried, before Echo gently guides her away.
Once they’re a few steps off, Hunter slows again, letting Tech and Wrecker drift ahead toward the ridge. “Talk to me,” he says quietly.
You open your mouth, then close it. The truth feels heavier than the cold, lodged somewhere behind your ribs. “I’m okay,” you start, then falter when he raises an eyebrow. You sigh, breath fogging faintly in front of you. “I didn’t think it would get this bad this fast.”
“That’s not the same thing,” he replies.
“No,” you admit. “It’s not.”
You stop walking when he does, boots crunching softly into the snow. Standing still makes the cold spike sharply, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from reacting. Hunter steps closer without hesitation, fully blocking the wind now, his shadow falling over you in a way that feels strangely protective.
He reaches for your hands. You tense instinctively, embarrassment flaring, but his touch is firm and unyielding. He pulls your gloved hands between his palms, pressing them together with slow, deliberate pressure. Even through layers of fabric, the warmth is immediate and startling. “You can’t feel them,” he says, not asking.
You shake your head once. “Not much.”
His jaw tightens. He glances toward the ridge where Tech and Wrecker are busy scanning the area, then back down at you. Without another word, he slips one glove off with his teeth and guides both your hands inside it, enclosing them against his bare palm.
The contrast makes you inhale sharply. Hunter’s skin is warm—solid, steady heat that seeps into you almost painfully at first. He adjusts his grip, thumbs pressing gently into your knuckles, coaxing circulation back with slow, careful movements.
“Hunter,” you murmur, half protest, half something else entirely. “You don’t have to—”
“I do,” he interrupts quietly. “You’re shaking.”
You hadn’t realized it was that obvious. The wind howls against the ridge, but you barely notice it now. All of your awareness narrows to the space between you, to the way his hands hold yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His focus is absolute, eyes fixed on your fingers as he works warmth back into them, expression tight with concentration.
Behind you, Wrecker lets out a loud cough that sounds suspiciously forced. “Oh no,” he says loudly. “Would you look at that, Tech. Absolutely nothing to see over here.”
Tech doesn’t even glance up from his scanner. “Your attempt at subtlety is statistically ineffective.”
“Hey, I tried,” Wrecker shrugs.
Hunter ignores them, though a faint exhale leaves him, something close to a huff of amusement. He keeps your hands where they are, unmoved by the attention. “You don’t get points for pushing through this,” he says, voice lower now. “If you get hurt out here, the whole team pays for it.”
You swallow, throat tight, repeating what you said earlier. “I didn’t want to be the reason we stopped.”
“You’re never the reason,” he replies immediately. The certainty in his tone steals your breath far more effectively than the cold ever could. “You matter. That’s not negotiable.”
The words settle deep, warming something in your chest that has nothing to do with temperature. You nod, unable to find a response that doesn’t feel too fragile to speak out loud. He finally eases his grip, though he doesn’t let go completely. Instead, he adjusts your scarf, tugging it higher to shield your neck, his fingers lingering just long enough to make your pulse jump. “Next time,” he says quietly, meeting your eyes, “you tell me sooner.”
You manage a small smile. “Okay.”
With one last squeeze of your hands, he steps back, slipping his glove on again and turning toward the ridge as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened. But as you start walking once more, warmth slowly returning to your fingers, you’re acutely aware of the shift between you. Hunter stays close, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours with every step, and this time, you don’t try to move away.
The ridge provides just enough cover to break the worst of the wind. Snow still swirls through the air, but it no longer cuts straight through you, and the difference is immediate. You breathe a little easier, shoulders loosening now that you’re not fighting the elements head-on.
Tech crouches near the base of the rock formation, scanner humming as he adjusts its settings. “The energy readings are stronger here,” he says. “Still irregular, but localized. Whatever’s causing it should be close.”
Wrecker plants himself nearby, arms crossed as he peers out over the slope. “So we’re not freezing for nothing. Good to know.”
Echo stands watch with Omega tucked close at his side, his posture relaxed but alert. Omega keeps glancing back at you, her expression thoughtful, like she’s piecing something together. Hunter stays where he is. Which is still beside you.
You become painfully aware of it now that the immediate urgency has passed. The warmth lingering in your hands. The way your body has adjusted to his presence, like it’s decided this is where you’re meant to stand. You flex your fingers again, surprised to find sensation returning, slow but steady.
“Feeling any better?” he asks quietly.
You nod. “Yeah. It’s coming back.”
“Good,” he says, but he doesn’t step away. Instead, he shifts slightly, angling his body so you’re still shielded from the worst of the wind curling around the ridge. The move is instinctive, unthinking, and that’s what makes it hit harder.
You hesitate, then speak before you can talk yourself out of it. “I didn’t mean to put you in that position.”
He looks at you, genuinely puzzled. “What position?”
“Having to… stop things. Take care of me.” You huff out a breath, shaking your head. “I know you’re responsible for everyone. I don’t want to make that harder.”
His expression softens, something steady and intent settling into his gaze. “You don’t make it harder,” he says. “You’re part of what I’m responsible for.”
There’s no grand declaration in his tone. No drama. Just truth, delivered plainly, like he expects you to understand it the same way he does. You swallow, heart thudding a little harder. “You don’t have to watch me that closely.”
“Yes, I do,” he replies without hesitation. Then, quieter, “I want to.”
The admission hangs between you, fragile and real. You don’t look away, even though every instinct tells you to deflect it with humor or change the subject. Instead, you let it settle, let it warm you in a way the gloves and scarf never could.
Hunter exhales slowly, like he’s realizing he said more than he intended. “You push yourself,” he continues, voice lower. “I get why. But you don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“I know,” you say, and this time you really mean it.
Behind you, Wrecker clears his throat again, louder than necessary. “Okay, so,” he says, drawing out the words, “either it’s getting real quiet because there’s danger nearby… or because something else is happening.”
Tech doesn’t even glance up. “Statistically speaking, this level of interpersonal tension suggests the latter.”
Wrecker grins. “Ha! Called it.”
You feel heat creep up your neck that has nothing to do with the cold, and you open your mouth to protest, but Omega beats you to it. “She was cold,” Omega says simply, like that explains everything. She looks between you and Hunter, eyes bright with understanding. “Hunter helped.”
Echo snorts softly. “That tracks.”
Hunter shoots Wrecker a look that should probably be intimidating, but Wrecker just grins wider. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to,” Hunter replies flatly.
Omega smiles at you, wide and unguarded. “I’m glad you’re warmer now.”
“Me too,” you say, meaning more than she knows.
Tech finally straightens, tapping his datapad. “The anomaly appears to be non-hostile. Likely a natural energy fluctuation beneath the ice. No further action required.”
Wrecker throws his arms up. “Yes! That means we can head back, right? Somewhere less… breezy?”
Hunter nods. “We’ll regroup and head to the ship.”
As the team starts moving, Echo gently steers Omega ahead, murmuring something to her that makes her giggle. Wrecker claps Tech on the shoulder and launches into a story about an old mission when he built a snow fort twice this size, leaving the two of you momentarily behind.
Hunter waits until the others are a few steps ahead before speaking again. “You okay to keep moving?” he asks.
You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. Especially now.”
He glances at you, just for a second, and something like relief flickers across his face. Then he turns forward, falling into step beside you as naturally as if that’s where he’s always meant to be. This time, when your shoulder brushes his, neither of you moves away.
The Marauder comes into view through the drifting snow, dark and solid against the white landscape. Relief settles into you the moment you see it, tension easing from your shoulders now that the patrol is truly over. The ramp lowers with a familiar mechanical whine, warm air spilling out in a way that feels almost decadent after hours in the cold.
Wrecker is the first one up the ramp, stomping snow from his boots as he goes. “I’m telling you, that place could’ve used a hot caf stand,” he says loudly. “Or at least a heater the size of a speeder.”
Echo follows close behind with Omega, helping her shrug out of her outer layer once they’re inside. She chatters happily about the snow, about how the wind sounded like it was singing, about how she wants to come back someday when it isn’t trying to freeze everyone in place.
Tech pauses just inside the ship, already engrossed in his datapad. “I will be recommending additional thermal insulation upgrades,” he mutters. “The data gathered today suggests a non-negligible risk—”
“Noted,” Hunter says, cutting in gently. “We’ll look at it later.”
You linger at the base of the ramp for a moment, brushing snow from your sleeves and flexing your fingers one last time. They move easily now, warmth fully restored, though the memory of the cold still lingers in your bones.
Hunter waits. He stands just inside the ship, one hand resting against the frame of the doorway, watching you with that same quiet attentiveness he’s carried all day. When you step inside, the temperature shift makes you sigh despite yourself. “Better?” he asks.
You nod, smiling. “Much.”
Omega looks over from where she’s settled into one of the seats, already halfway wrapped in a blanket. Her eyes light up. “You should sit here,” she says, patting the spot beside her. Then she glances at Hunter, grin widening. “There’s room for both of you.”
Echo gives Hunter a sideways look that’s far too knowing for comfort. “She’s not wrong.”
Hunter opens his mouth to object, then closes it again when Omega’s hopeful expression meets his. He exhales, defeated. “Alright.”
You settle into the seat, warmth seeping into you from all sides now. Hunter sits beside you, close enough that your arms brush, close enough that you can feel the steady heat of him even through layers of gear.
Wrecker plops down across from you, boots up on a crate. “See? Told you we’d survive,” he says cheerfully. “Barely.”
Tech doesn’t look up. “Survival was never in question.”
As the ramp lifts and the engines rumble to life, the Marauder shudders slightly beneath you. Snow disappears from view as the ship rises, leaving the frozen world behind.
Hunter reaches into one of the storage compartments near the seats and pulls out a small thermal pack. He hesitates for half a second, then hands it to you. “Just in case,” he says.
You take it, fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t pull his hand away right away. Instead, he shifts, angling himself so his shoulder presses more firmly against yours, offering quiet warmth without a word. Omega watches the exchange with a pleased little smile before leaning back against Echo’s side, content.
The ship settles into its steady hum, lights dimming to their usual glow. Outside, the cold planet fades into the distance, but inside the Marauder, it’s warm. Steady. Safe.
You let your head rest back against the seat, exhaling slowly, and Hunter stays exactly where he is. Neither of you says anything.
You don’t need to.
everything: @clxt-lamb1 @person-005 @bookoffracturedescapes
12 days of christmas: @ornateglass @taygrls @vampsan @cucumbermel @goobers-mcgee
