oftidheard - Tumblr blog

oftidheard · 4 months

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hi! i saw you wanted holiday themed requests so i was wondering if you could write something fluffy about either sejanus or treech where their gf is feeling kind of insecure bc she thinks she doesn't deserve christmas gifts (maybe because she was a victor and she thinks shes a bad person bc she had to kill people in the games) and they reassure her? <3 i love ur writing btw!

thank you!!! ♡♡ i went with treech because about half of my other seasonal requests are for sejanus + this is my first time writing for treech and i'm very excited! warnings: a few mentions of vomit, descriptions of reader's ptsd from the games (dead bodies, murder, gore) this has a bit of a heavy moment, but i promise it's a very happy ending

"just look up, please." treech x reader ↳ 2.7k ↳ angst to fluff ↳ gender neutral

treech's grip on your hand is horribly unwavering as he guides the two of you up the — what would normally be perfectly easy for you to traverse, but in your overtiredness the steepness might as well be perfectly vertical — hill. you aren't exactly playing this game of tug-of-war fairly, with the way you're all but dropping to the ground as dead weight that you hope your boyfriend will finally stop trying to drag along; but in your defence, you don't think it was very fair of him to drag you out of bed on christmas eve the moment the clock struck over to christmas day with no explanation.

he's lucky you feel this innate safeness around him, because if it had been anyone but treech shaking — albeit very gently, he's not entirely horrible — you awake in the assumed safety of your house, in the middle of the night, you would have erupted into screams and stabbed him with the nearest sharp object you could get your hands on.

instead, you'd just stirred and groaned when your eyes had fluttered open to the face of your grinning boyfriend looming over you, and not even had the energy to protest his undisclosed plan.

by the time you'd gained your footing — metaphorically, mentally, absolutely not physically, if your sleepy stumbling is anything to go by — you'd already made footfall on the base of the hill he's leading you up, and he's grown too determined to let you roll down miserably by now.

you've had a pit making home in your stomach since the beginning of december, and though you'd be fooling yourself to think you'd been perfectly alright before then, treech unsubtly trying to find out what gift you might want for the holidays has been the sickening reminder of the month approaching — the one which brings happiness you simply don't deserve.

you'd told him you want nothing, which he'd thought was some sort of joke the first time, and then he had only grown concerned when it remained your answer.

you know you don't deserve something like a christmas present; it's as simple as that. someone like you — a monster, a killer, a murderer, a victor — doesn't deserve neatly wrapped boxes under trees and heartwarming traditions. you deserve to rot in your bed long enough that your persistent boyfriend finally gets the message that you can't be 'saved'.

you fight against whatever treech's plan is — because deep down, you know it's going to be a gift, you don't know how yet, you don't know why he's leading you up a hill you didn't even know existed — but you know at the end of it there'll be something wrapped with a shining bow so pure you can already feel the vomit rising in your throat.

so just like you'd rejected well-wishes and invites to festive events all month, you fight.

you slow your steps and imagine your shoes are coated in heavy mud, weighing you down so deep that the earth opens up to swallow you — which, with how tired you are, the feeling isn't too hard to imagine.

you slump and let your eyes close absently, your tactic really just consisting of forcing treech to try to carry you up the hill on his own — and getting to go back home when he inevitably gives up.

but still, you feel his hand tugging on yours, and a, "come on!" that is way too enthusiastic for someone who woke up in the middle of your night and decided to make it your problem.

you groan when he somehow keeps making — albeit much slower, but still noticeable — progress in dragging you up the hill. the tired ache running through every one of your bones cries out for your warm bed, and you almost audibly tell your sore body to shut up!, because surely your body of all things trudging up this stupid hill, should be well aware that you are also begging to just collapse.

it occurs to you, just as the thought pops into your mind, that it might not be such a bad idea — so, naturally, you don't hesitate to entirely relax your muscles, and relish in the silence of no longer hearing the complaints of your body as you fully flop to the ground.

the sound of a surprised "woah" is just about as important to you as the feeling of your knees impacting with the dirt beneath you; which is to say, almost not at all — as long as the dirt plans to cooperate with you and provide a comfortable bed — until you realise treech had been so clung onto you that when you fell he fell too.

he loses his footing swiftly following you, and tumbles down on top of you with a thud paired with your low whining.

his chest sandwiches you to the ground, and even though the weight of your boyfriend awkwardly on top of you feels like a pretty sure sign that there won't be any more progress on making it up this hill, you're hesitant to just about declare this a win.

you wriggle your hands up to cushion your face against the sparse grass and whatever else you can't see in this light, and mumble a, "goodnight," after a moment of waiting that tells you treech has given up on regaining his footing.

or so you thought.

it's probably your fault, your small victorious declaration is probably what spurred him on to push off of you and dig his shoes back into the hill — and you cry out when he pulls your hands from under your face, and your cheek falls to the dirt.

you're not even sure what you're muttering as he lifts you up with an admirable strength — that which's persistence you'd probably appreciate, as you do most things about your boyfriend, if he weren't currently using it against you. but even once he's picked you up off the ground and beginning to move upwards again, you keep gloomily complaining under your breath.

treech's hand's grip on your own tightens, and the sickness in your stomach coils.

you wish you had the energy to do anything but make a fool of yourself like a toddler who didn't get their way. you wish you could make him understand that this is far more than grumpiness from some sort of lack of beauty sleep, and that the overwhelmingly dark cloud that looms over you is more than just trivial grouchiness.

maybe the worst part is that in some corner of your mind, you know he knows this; you know he even tries to understand how you feel.

and now, he's failing that endeavour, all to push you past your limit for something you could never want — not anymore.

he looks over his shoulder at you, and you can tell he's trying to withhold a smile. whether this is for your sake or because he thinks he's kept his plan a secret and doesn't want to spoil it is anyone's guess — but you're just about ready to tell him to just smile.

he should be happy right now, he should grin and laugh and find joy in holding your hand — because when you reach wherever he's taking you, you'll either blow up in his face, or deflate and suck all the air out of the world. either way, you'll ruin the mood, and he'll realise whatever his hard work led to was for nothing when you shove the gift in his chest and fail to withhold the vomit growing inside you.

"c'mon!" he encourages you, with a softer voice than you'd have expected. helplessly — and ever so weakly — you find yourself pliable to his request, and attempt to catch up to him before you even realise what you're doing.

he's quick to tuck you into his side, his arm finding a secure hold around your shoulder, and letting you drop your head to rest on his own.

you accept the embrace quietly, folding against him with all your weight now his to hold upright, in a silent admission that now that you are so far from home, you'd much rather be as close to him as possible than out in the dark — scared, alone, mind suddenly stuck back in the arena.

you resign yourself to the light-headedness of dissociating from any risk of even a single thought, and letting your muscle memory take the wheel; ghosting up the hill with dreary eyes and yawns gone unheard to your ears so deeply submerged in the miserable inky water you drown in.

after your aching legs get into the rhythm of matching treech's footsteps, you have no idea how long it takes for him to finally stop the both of you.

though your hear the occasional "almost there" echoing through the caverns of your mind, and barely register the feeling of the wind growing colder against your skin not long after, you let yourself slowly fall into the dark pit that awaits your just before you fall asleep every night.

your muscles grow heavy and footsteps fumbled just as the two of you finally still, and lower to sit on something rough and uncomfortable.

you think you might hear treech whispering to you, trying to get your attention, but you refuse to delve out of the darkness to even try to catch his words.

even as he pulls your side flush against his and his arm drifts down to wrap warmly around your waist — you will your eyes to remain screwed shut.

you remind yourself; sleep grants you peace, dreamless nights grant you the warm hug of nothingness that has become a welcome friend after nightmares of corpses and waking days riddled with reminders of the blood on your hands. sleep keeps the sinking feeling at bay, sleep drifts you so far out into the empty void that you can forget, even when you don't deserve to.

treech's body, adorned in a fluffy sweater and wrapped around yours, would be a welcome feeling if it didn't remind you of the hearts that no longer beat on the arena floor, of the bodies no longer warm by your hand.

sleep doesn't make you throw up your blood and guts and very soul until you have paid enough of your organs to all the throats you slit and all those lives lost to deserve forgiveness.

his head gently pushes against yours in an attempt to draw you out. his breath unknowingly brushes against your pulse point.

you think of the scrawny body facedown on the ground and your desperate scramble to check their pulse. you couldn't bring your shaky hands to flip them over, and from the clothes alone you had no chance at figuring out which of your fellow tributes was gone.

in your dreams, it's a different person every time. sometimes it's the district two girl who almost cracked your skull open, sometimes it's the two siblings from six laid side by side. sometimes it's one of the peacekeepers using their last breath to take your own. sometimes it's treech.

and sometimes it's you, your own lifeless eyes inhabiting a cold, dead body.

the tickle of a soft sensation on your face suddenly draws you out, and your eyes involuntarily flutter open to find your boyfriend's face so close to yours that the tips of his curls brush against your skin.

you want to close your eyes again and pretend his efforts hadn't been successful, but his breath along with the strong wind fans across your eyelids just uncomfortably enough that you have to readjust your position and begrudgingly open them.

you shuffle further into treech's hold, and try hide your face in the crook of his neck, but get disrupted by his contrary movements, forcing you to stop hiding.

he whispers your name, and repeats what you realise he's been saying this whole time, "just look up, please."

this makes you frown, and the only thing that gives you enough motivation to finally give into his pleading, is the fact that there's still no wrapped present in your hands — a sign, you desperately hope, that he heeded your wishes — and it makes you more amiable.

you finally lift your head, and meet his gaze, still with questioning downturned brows — but his eyes light up as if you're looking at him with the brightest smile he's ever seen, and he nods his head ahead of the two of you.

you reluctantly follow his gaze towards the night sky, blinking away the blurriness and adjusting to the darkness.

then, as you face more light than you'd expected, your breath hitches.

above you, like a piece of art that any canvas painting hung in the capitol could never even dream to compare to, there dances strokes of greens and pinks lighting up the night sky.

your eyes widen, begging to see the entirety of the sight and wishing to never forget it, even the sudden cold wind blowing through your slack jaw is a distant concern in the face of this.

the bright greens swirl through the deep blue of the sky, trailing from behind distant mountains until it drifts above you, and you feel the urge to jump from your seat and run your fingers through the tendrils.

as your eyes notice the dusts of pink shadowing the strong greens, you realise — further inside your chest — there is a calmness that has overcome you, a deep tranquillity that has slowed down your heartbeat and run something lighter than blood through your veins. if treech weren't holding you down, you're certain you'd float away until you joined the clouds above — and you'd let it happen.

minutes pass as the lights swallow you whole, eyes reflecting the colours and a sparkling joy you haven't felt since long before your life was ruined.

even as centuries pass in silence, the lights continue to dance for you, and you don't even realise you're grinning widely until you turn to your boyfriend, and his own smile only grows stronger at the sight of yours.

you can barely force your question out through inaudible wonder, as you simply ask, "how?"

you recognise the twinkle in his eyes as the same sensation fluttering through your chest and pumping your heart.

"it happens every year," he explains, your gaze back on the sky, but a warmth peering into the side of your face hinting that his eyes may be fixated on something else.

"always past the curfew, so no one's really dumb enough to sneak out to see it."

you're not sure if it's from the slight humour in his comment, or the euphoric feeling that's overcome your entire being, but you find yourself throwing your head back and laughing — something you might as well have forgotten how to do after so long. and it might have even hurt your throat after months of being out of practice, but you don't notice — nor do you very much care.

"but we are?" you joke, and feel your heart swell when his laugh joins yours with an amused nod.

minutes pass again, and still the colours don't fade. you wonder if you've somehow found yourselves trapped in a time capsule where you can never leave this moment — you find yourself hoping so.

you follow a tendril of pink and the softest purple on the outskirts of the lights, and smile when treech's hand finds yours to lead you both closer to the edge of the hill, where you feel even closer to the view.

"do you like it?" he whispers, and you let out a breathy laugh before you can even overthink your every reaction like you've taught yourself to. you don't even have to remind yourself that you're safe here, that while enveloped by love and the same magic that caresses the leaves of trees that reach the clouds, you're free — because you feel it, in every breath and every nerve-ending that comes alive when your boyfriend's face snuggles against the side of yours.

you nod.

you wobble on your feet as you simultaneously try to embrace treech and try to keep your eyes on the sky, and through giddy giggles, you whisper, "merry christmas," and you mean it.

a/n: the lights are specifically aurora borealis/the northern lights! incase anyone might not be familiar with them ♡♡

this also happens much more frequently than once a year in real life, but i imagined either treech simply doesn't really know that, or due to some sort of crisis that happened that might have led to the hunger games universe as we know it, the earth's atmosphere might has been affected, thus maybe making the occurrence a bit different/not as common ♡

#treech x reader #treech tbosas x reader #tbosas treech x reader #treech thg x reader #tbosas x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x y/n #thg x reader #tbosbas x reader #❤︎ — the mockingjay sings

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oftidheard · 4 months

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hello💕💕 could you write something with coryo x reader around christmas? maybe sejanus gives her an expensive present bc they're friends but coryo gets jealous bc he knows he can't afford to give her anything of similiar value so he broods until she notices his mood and nags him until he tells her what's up? ending is open to you obv💕💕

so happy to finally post my first seasonal fic! wishing you a belated merry christmas ♡♡ warnings: one suggestive comment at the end. for the sake of this being a christmas fic i tried to keep the toxicity of the relationship out of the main focus, but it's also semi integral to the plot (in the way reader acts around coryo + and goes about resolving conflict with him)

"talk to me." coriolanus snow x reader ↳ 1.9k ↳ angst with a happy ending ↳ implied feminine

"it's lovely, isn't it?" you muse with a smile, admiring your adorned necklace in the coriolanus's small bedroom mirror. the centre ruby sits between wings of clear gems, cleanly cut teardrops no larger than the nail of your pinky framing the star of the show in such a way that it doesn't feel boasting — it's a beautiful presentation, but does not insist upon itself.

the golden chain trails along your skin as if it were made to sit there, and you can't stop yet another of the slightest giggles from escaping your mouth at just how good sejanus is at buying you the perfect presents.

you swivel your head when your boyfriend doesn't reply to your cheery fish for his opinion — which for the past minute or so that you've been gazing at your beautiful necklace, has been oddly absent — and you find him perched on the edge of his bed with an unreadable look already on you.

you'd expected to find him slowly undressing after the long day, and suspected that perhaps he had just gotten lost in his own world of calculations and undoing his tie. but now, he remains in his outfit of the day, not making any move to relax.

"coryo?" your voice wavers, as does your previously joyous smile.

he finally moves, only to turn away from you and towards the window across the room. you miss the tick of his jaw, and while he hears your shaky sigh which you try to hide loud and clear, he misses your split-second moment of hesitance before approaching him.

your footsteps are cautious, and though it would mean nothing but perhaps your boyfriend looking down on you in a weird way, you think — within the next seconds it take you to reach his side — if the floorboards beneath you were to creak, you'd run and cry. if only from the absurdity of the world's audacity to keep breathing even as you find yourself in a stiff bubble devoid of air.

you take a deep, silent, breath before you sink to the mattress beside him — and hope it's enough to get you through whatever this is about to be; imagining even just breathing in front of your seemingly angry boyfriend to be too much of a sign of weakness.

his bed is uncomfortable beneath you, though the fact your boyfriend is all of a sudden sending you death glares is probably no help at easing you. you keep a distance between the two of you that you hope is big enough for him to not feel attacked — and, selfishly, for you to feel just a little bit safe.

you hope, humourlessly, that your sitting here silently for a moment might be enough to coax him into even just facing you. it isn't of course, coryo is stubborn as ever and you'd have to hear it from himself to be sure he's even noticed your presence beside him.

you push down any hesitance as you lightly bounce your leg against his, joined by a, "hey," called softly and laced with a brightness that doesn't reach your eyes, you try to catch his attention — and, ever so ideally, cheer him up.

but he's quick to draw himself further away from your touch with a rise from his seat, and the hitch in your breath is evident when — without necessary preparation — you quiver out a, "what's wrong?" so embarrassing you're not shocked what must be his complete indignancy at your patheticness is what finally gets him to look down at you.

he glares, watching as you piece yourself back together unsteadily, and after after a silence that forces you to look him in the eye, his own eyes flicker from your hold, and he speaks coldly.

"it doesn't suit you."

immediately, your mind comes to the conclusion that he means your inability to keep a level head when he so much as looks at you wrong — and it's a miracle you keep tears from welling just long enough to catch the way his gaze flickers to fixate on your chest.

the heartbroken, 'oh' that had been on the tip of your tongue falls silent, and you meet a growing scowl on his face as he notices your own recognition of the actual object of his disdain.

your eyebrows slowly draw together as the bitterness in coriolanus's eyes only grows, and you're given the chance to regain your footing — both literally and figuratively, as you rise to stand in front of him.

"you mean the necklace?" you query, hands drifting the the fixture as you speak softly.

his jaw tenses, features becoming taut and ever colder.

for an agonising second he doesn't reply, doesn't say a word; just stares at your jewellery, his glare so piercing you feel like it's burning right through the skin of your chest until it meets — and stabs right through — your heart.

then, his feet are swift and soundless in his own deadly equivalent of storming out of the room, leaving you behind still confused as to what exactly is wrong with your new necklace of all things.

your immediate situation doesn't cause you panic — in another world, if alone time was what coryo wanted, it's what you'd give him, you'd let him calm down on his own terms — but rather, what happens after the anger has simmered. if you aren't there to completely cool it down, he holds onto it with a vice-like grip; he still doesn't let you talk alone with felix after he'd caught the two of you in conversation and you hadn't followed him after he'd fired up.

you've learnt, if you play your cards right, and if you have just enough patience to keep chasing him to wherever he runs off to if you slip up until you get it right; you can pluck the fury out while it's still raw, and it'll be almost like it was never there.

so your steps are swift follow him out to his empty living room, and you slow down your approach — only when you see the back of his head sat on an armchair — to analyse his posture, and make the most well-informed decision you can.

you don't make the mistake again of lowering yourself to his height — not letting him feel you're on some sort of even ground where he thinks he could seize the 'upper hand' — and instead sit on the arm of the seat.

you don't rush to talk. you spend about a minute consciously making the effort to make your breaths even and an acceptably just audible volume, to ease him.

it works, because when you reach out carefully to rest a hand right where his shoulder meets his neck, he doesn't stop you. though nor does he keen into your touch like he does when he's truly relaxed around you — but he didn't lean away or tear your hand from his skin, so you take the win.

you bide your time, keeping your touch light as to not make him feel like you're trying to weigh him down, and you gracefully move in just an inch closer.

his jaw clenches and unclenches, you wait with a careful eye until you you watch his tenseness marginally recede, and his muscles slowly relax — marking an opening for the next stage of your plan.

you take a breath, feather-light just the same as your lifted hand from his shoulder that now trails up coriolanus's neck.

"coryo," your voice is honey sweet, and paired with your fingers skilfully intertwining with the soft hair on the back of his head, your tactic to break down his walls of anger makes way for your soft demand, "talk to me."

you hear his sigh that slips out more like a gasp at your warmth, and twirl his curls between your fingertips with a very purposeful gentleness as you wait for him to finally reply.

when he does, he tries to remain rigid and still through your touch, not looking at you as he says, "the necklace. it's ugly, and cheep."

your breath hitches, and you're suddenly glad coriolanus was still too unhappy to look you in the eyes when he said that — if he had, you wouldn't be able to be held accountable for a returned insult or even slap at his audacity to insult the gift your best friend gave you.

but you have to remind yourself — through a growing mass of fog growing in your head that only wishes to defend yourself, and more so your friend — that if you simmer on your own upset and take too long to keep the conversation moving, your boyfriend will feel like he can take matters into his own hands again.

and, further down in your gut, even if you notice the way coriolanus glares at your friend whenever he's around, you realise that his hatred for your gift doesn't just come from a place of hatred for sejanus. you know the snows struggle, and you know how much he hates himself for it; so it's no surprise that this knowing he cannot buy you any christmas gift like he might wish to, paired with the person who can shower you with presents is the district-born pain in his side, must surely be mixing together to make a cold bitterness inside him that he now takes out on you.

you count no more than three seconds, a gap just small enough to be safe, and take a deep breath. you love coryo, you want to comfort him, and it's not like he even directly insulted sejanus. you encourage yourself to smile, and start to lightly graze coriolanus's scalp with your nails — a sensation you know he secretly loves.

"i'm a bit warm in here," you hum, and notice out of the corner of your eye that his gaze follows yours when it flickers to a window, "i'd love to go out in the snow."

he doesn't reply audibly, but the way he finally leans back into your touch is an answer enough for you. you can let yourself breathe easier now, and go about the rest of your plan without an elevated heartbeat.

you plant a kiss atop his head, and slip away to his bedroom in the blink of an eye.

you catch your reflection in his mirror for a melancholy split-second, but don't let yourself dwell for even a moment, and unclasp the jewellery.

you slip it into your bag, and ignore your own perfectly substantial coat in favour of shrugging on one of coriolanus's.

breath in — you practice your warm smile in the mirror, the expression growing minusculely more genuine at the sight of yourself still beautiful from the night's earlier get-up, and an undeniable flutter at the sight of yourself in your boyfriend's clothes — breath out.

when you emerge, you find coriolanus in the winter coat he'd worn earlier tonight, and you stop in the doorway for a moment to let him notice your attire — and lack thereof in the case the necklace.

his eyes linger on your figure long enough for you to know his unimpressed eyeroll is all for show, and the extra heaviness in his gaze when it still lands back on you a moment later confirms to you that he's much happier to see you wearing something of his than he pretends to be; another win.

you smile sweetly as you walk up to him to link your arms, and hold your side close to his.

"where to?" he asks, and suddenly you feel the calmness that tells you you're now just spending a pleasant evening with the man you love.

"hmm, you can see the stars clearly from the park..." you lower your voice to a playful whisper, "and no one else will be there at this hour."

he pulls you closer as you walk out the door, and you embrace the closeness.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #tbosas x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x y/n #thg x reader #❤︎ — the mockingjay sings

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