#treech fanfiction

[itsbuckytm]

Yooooo!!! That Snow fic you recently released involving the reader and Treech being in love? Absolute masterpiece! So hear me out: what if you wrote about their connection and how it progressed? Like, before Coryo got his clutches on the reader. There was a moment you described where Treech and the reader snuck out, I’m pretty sure. I’d love to see a story on that. Maybe end it with those dying words you mentioned? Just utter fluff with that heartbreak of an ending.

Capitol's love birds. / Treech

summary : being Snow's twin meant being exactly like him, even though your appearances were slightly different. As a mentor yourself, you were assigned to District 7's male tribute, Treech. it was only in the wagon on its way to the Capitol that the chemistry first sparked, ultimately solidifying your status as the Capitol's favorite lovebirds.

ps ; english is not my native language, and I appreciate seeing your requests for ideas that I may not have thought of. Hopefully, you find the suggestions helpful. please refrain from plagiarizing my work without my permission or proper credit, as doing so may result in being flagged or banned. thank you.

Mentoring proved to be a challenging responsibility, but the greatest struggle arose when love entered the picture. However, this was no ordinary affection; it was a type of love that some might view as disgraceful, while others perceived it as a form of admiration amid the Games. Although Treech wasn't particularly interested in getting to know his mentor, let alone encountering them in another restricted enclosure, it was within those confines that the two of you crossed paths. Despite being Snow's twin traditionally constantly at his side, it was unquestionable that you, too, were destined to trail behind him to discover who your tribute was. 

While taking pride in mentoring someone from a district not situated at the lowest rungs of Panem's hierarchy, you were fortunate enough to maintain a semblance of dignity, given the reputation of the district you represented for its familiarity with victory. However, Lucy Gray Baird's captivating performance, the talk of the town since the reaping, cast shadows of doubt over your confidence. All of this, while your brother engaged with fellow tributes, attempting his best to establish his temptation not to gith back. 

You couldn't help but notice the stark class distinctions. Dust still clung to their attire, indicating a lack of access to basic amenities like showers before arriving. A twinge of sympathy crept in. "What's a pretty face doing here?" Reaper Ash remarked, catching you off guard. Initially assuming the comment was directed at Coriolanus, you soon realized it was aimed squarely at you. The revelation that you, too, were to become a mentor became apparent. And that the unspoken pressure to make a positive first impression on the fortunate second tribute who had the early opportunity to meet you loomed large. But Ash simply laughed at your brother’s reaction by ordering you stay behind him. Although poorly as his arm performed itself as a fence initiating to any tributes not to go further. "Relax, pretty boy. I won't touch her. Just asking for a friend, that's all." 

That friend happened to be Treech, whose imposing silhouette positioned itself in front of you a little closer this time. His gaze had been fixed on you from the moment he laid eyes on you. While you initially attributed it to natural human interaction, the persistent feeling of being scrutinized lingered throughout. It seemed as if Treech was almost surprised or even deceived to have you as his mentor, likely influenced by how your brother had fared so far. "Looking for District 7." You mentioned exchanging quick glances with the tributes to assess who would be best with an axe.

 As expected, your eyes landed on the red-headed girl who endeavored to present herself as the ideal candidate for you. "A boy." Your brother corrected, noticing as Lamina stood up, but Treech, adopting a protective stance, advised her to remain behind, much like your twin had done. After all it was a one-on-one game for the time being. "That must be my lucky one." Treech expressed sarcastically, stating it as a matter of fact, causing a subtle pink shade to color your cheeks – a reaction you tried hard to control. After all, it was your very first time you had seen someone outside the District ever. "You get to have the other pretty one." Ash teased playfully, suggesting that, despite Treech's charming demeanor, he was seemingly destined for a grim fate in the arena upon arrival. “I’m a little jealous.” Ash generously said.

Upon reaching the Capitol, you and your brother were taken aback as you discovered an unforeseen aspect of the tributes' journey. The initial understanding was that Flickerman, the Capitol's esteemed journalist, would be present to introduce each tribute upon their arrival. However, what they were unaware of was the presence of two mentors among the tributes, perhaps trespassing without official permission. This, however, was a matter for another time. Despite the somewhat unconventional transportation, Treech remained fixated on you throughout the journey to the Capitol. He seemed entranced by the striking resemblance between you and your brother, sparking a sense of compassion. Observing your interactions and the way you closely accompanied your brother, it was rumored that you were akin to his pet, only permitted to speak when approved by Coriolanus. Despite his disdain for the District, your brother demonstrated a surprising degree of protectiveness towards you, although in the midst of the situation, allowed  some space during the encounter with your tribute in an unexpected location. 

Fortunately, your keen observation allowed you to realize that you were reaching your destination, a detail that eluded many, including Coryo himself. Swiftly grasping your twin’s arm, a gesture he had ensured, the sudden tilt of the wagon hinted at the possibility of your feet slipping and sliding. Treech's eyes widened at your momentary clumsiness, seizing the opportunity to support you. As your back met the uncomfortable mud of the Zoo, he was determined not to lose his mentee on the spot. 

Cameras focused intently on both you and your brother, eliciting a crowd reaction filled with exclamations such as, "It's Snow's boy!" Swiftly, the onlookers noticed your presence next to your brother, who rose and asserted himself. There you stood, a captivating spectacle, with Treech's arm securing your waist and his unwavering gaze fixed on yours. A sly smirk played on his lips as the rest of the crowd declared your presence as well. "And look! The other Snow!" The citizens of the Capitol, already entranced by the presence of the twin siblings on their tributes' first day, began expressing confidence in your victory. This added an additional layer of challenge for the other mentors who were absent from this captivating spectacle. "It's your cue, princess." 

"Princess" was the first word he used to address you. Ironically, it took you a moment to realize that all the cameras were focused on you. Your brother had already made his mark, keeping a careful eye to ensure your tribute didn't make any missteps, especially when it came to touching you. However, you were completely under Treech's influence. With a confident smile, he waved at the cameras, making it a bit easier for you to face the potential embarrassment later at home. "She's alright!" He assured, shifting his gaze quickly to your relieved brother. He could have sworn he saw a few Capitol ladies, with similar makeup to yours, watching in awe at how Treech gallantly assisted you. As he watched the scene unfold with Lucy and Snow not far away, he too decided to play the role of the Capitol's love bird. 

As preparations for the 10th Hunger Games were underway, Flickerman's team mandated interviews with every tribute each year. From the very beginning, you managed to establish trust with Treech, a bond that proved beneficial. Not only did you ensure he was well-fed, but you also took the initiative to fetch Lamina additional food, given her mentor's apparent neglect. Treech appreciated the maternal role you assumed for Lamina. On one occasion, he confessed that he would go to great lengths for her, even if it meant risking his own life to secure her victory as the final tribute. It was all in the pursuit of making District 7 proud once again, for a Lumberjack always harbors a wealth of secrets up their sleeves. 

During his time at the Zoo, Treech found increased joy in your company, particularly when you accompanied him for a quick visit to the arena. Following suit with other tributes, he decided to take the initiative in making the first move. It happened on that initial day when he casually attempted to hold your hand, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. You discreetly glanced at him, careful not to make it too obvious given the presence of the assigned tributes and their mentors. With Coriolanus behind you taking notice. Yet, observing Treech's attempts to connect with you, he sensed a deeper connection between the two of you. Realizing this, your elder sibling understood the need to strengthen his bond with Lucy. To Treech's delight, he could only imagine your brother envying a love that he would never receive in return. 

With insider knowledge of the arena and sneaky routes into the Academy, Treech and you managed to slip away after the arena visit. Observing his interaction back with District 4's tribute and noticing his vigilance, a few teases were all it took to provoke Treech into throwing a punch, especially when faced with comments like. "Your girlfriend wouldn't mind if I speak with you?" While it was clear that others were aware of your connection, Treech dismissed it as a mere game, refusing to believe that it held any deeper significance. However, his sentiments towards you had sparked an unexpected depth of emotion within him. "Just a reminder." He sternly directed at the other tribute, his gaze darkening with offense. Spotting you behind him with Lamina by your side, Treech asserted. "You don't speak such filth about Y/N." The onlookers chuckled at his protectiveness and the evident depth of his emotions. "Or else?" They added, challenging anyone who dared to disrespect you. 

"Or else, I won't hesitate to cut your head off with my axe. Watch yourself, because I can do it in the blink of an eye." With those words, Treech revealed what you truly meant to him. He could vividly recall Snow's concerned gaze as he tried to pull you away from the escalating situation. However, you had refused that day, meeting Treech's eyes the entire time after discussing the tributes he would be teamed with. "For Lamina's sake," You had pleaded, urging him to be cautious. "Those individuals only seek your vulnerability. They may be from District 4, but they don't understand the power of an axe." Was what Treech said reassuring you with a smile. A smile you’ll never forget. 

In that very moment, you decided to take Treech with you for a clandestine escape from the arena. It was a day when even the tributes were granted the freedom to either stay at the arena for practice or wander under the watchful eyes of the Peacekeepers. However, Treech and you had a different agenda. You used the excuse of wanting to make his training more convenient as a cover. For some inexplicable reason, you had the approval of Dr. Gaul, who only instructed that Treech needed to return to the Zoo before midnight. It seemed that being Snow's twin had its perks after all. 

Upon your arrival at the Academy's Greenhouse, both of you maintained a quiet atmosphere. This place held a special significance for you, offering tranquility during moments of anxiety or family pressure. Though it was suspected that you were in charge of the Greenhouse, under your grandmother's watchful eye and constant reminders to enjoy tending to flowers like she did, you chose to share this haven with Treech. It was the same place where you had once spoken briefly to him, and he was thrilled not only to spend time alone with you but also to witness the real person behind the facade of prestige and elegance showcased in public. Trying to ease the slight tension, Treech remarked. "You know, I'd be damned to see your brother's face if he were here." It was a fact that you were gradually opening up to someone who was once a stranger but had become someone you deeply loved. "Brother could care less; he has Lucy wrapped around his finger right now.” You added, acknowledging the complexities of your relationships within the family. 

A smirk played across Treech's face, revealing his amusement at the thought of your brother feeling jealous. Although they were in similar positions, this time the connection between you and Treech was authentic, not just for show. Playful teasing began to permeate every event at the Academy, serving as a tactic to expose vulnerabilities in both of you. However, with Treech's mentor skills and the insights gained from your brother's tips, he honed his skills and strength, making it increasingly difficult for others to exploit weaknesses or gain his trust. "And would it be fair to say that I, too, have my little finger entirely wrapped around you, Princess?" He added, playfully reciprocating the banter. 

His words caused a warm blush to spread across your cheeks, especially when he directed his attention toward you during wound care in practice. The worry in your eyes whenever he made a slight mistake was met with a reassuring thumbs-up and the smile you cherished. There were moments when it became challenging for him to stay focused, particularly when he saw you engaged in conversations with your other classmates. Despite the casual nature of those interactions, he couldn't resist the urge to draw your attention back to him. In response, you chuckled softly, suggesting a meeting on the rooftop of the Greenhouse to admire the stars. "Anything that involves being with you, I'll gladly say yes." He replied with a smile. “You know, I love when you blush more. Especially for me.” 

Without uttering a word, you playfully dismissed his comment, rolling your eyes in a teasing manner. You extended your hand, a gesture he effortlessly accepted. "Show me the way, Princess." He said, and together, you ascended the stairs. Luck was on your side as you reached the rooftop just as the sun of the Capitol dipped below the horizon, signaling the arrival of dawn. The sky was clear, and the stars of Panem glittered above, creating a breathtaking scene just for the two of you. "Looks like I'm the lucky one." He marveled at the view. "Having a beautiful face to look at and a beautiful scenery to enjoy all to myself. I'd be damned not to win these Games and return home to a beautiful angel." He confessed, and this time, he genuinely meant every word. 

On the other hand, you remained completely silent. Initially, you wanted to express your gratitude, but as the Games drew nearer, uncertainty crept in, even with Treech's skills. The looming uncertainty, especially regarding Lucy's well-being and Snow's single-minded pursuit of victory, left you unsure. Despite your love for your brother, his focus was solely on winning, regardless of the familial bond. Treech noticed the tension as the two of you sat next to the bench, and he tried to bring you closer. In an unexpected reaction, you flinched—a rare occurrence. "Hey—" Treech began, but he immediately noticed your slightly swollen face and your eyes fighting back tears. The man you loved had become, overnight, a complete stranger at best. "Look at me, Y/N." He pleaded, adopting a worried tone as you broke down in front of him. The situation must have been incredibly embarrassing for you. 

"What's wrong?" His voice softened as he looked at you, tender care evident in his gaze. He took immense pride in having you as his partner during the Games and falling in love with the most exceptional mentors he could have ever asked for. He harbored concerns about the possibility of you crying over his lifeless body, should the worst come to pass. The thought of hearing you scream his name filled him with worry, although he made a concerted effort not to show it. His overarching plan was to make you proud and, above all, to be loved by you until his very last breath. 

"Have you ever genuinely fallen in love?" Your question resonated with Treech. Of course, he loved you. You were an unexpected and, ironically, his first love. And so for you. The circumstances of your meeting might not have been ideal, but as long as he was with you, that's all that mattered. And if things worked in his favor, it was not just for him but for Lamina as well, given that she often regarded you as someone she could trust. "Like genuinely." You added, trying your best not to burst into laughter. Your tears didn't make it any easier, giving you a slightly maniacal tone. 

“Of course, and that person is sitting right in front of me.” His eyes not taking his gaze from you. How he watched you loosing yourself entirely in the moment of a mere seconds. Your old habits resurging as you would try to numb the pain of your fingers by scratching the very last skin until it bled. To which Treech could not help to notice the moment he had met you. He grabbed your fingers, making you to stop it quickly as he began to peck every single fingers. “And I have made a promise to myself, that if I’d ever win. That we will be reunited together. Build a family, run away together. Be the lovebirds the Capitol wants us to be.” 

A mixture of remorse and relief surged through you as you heard every word from Treech, assuring you that he would stay alive and well. If only you could muster the same confidence he exuded. Despite your attempts, he gently wiped away your tears, his fingers delicately holding your chin to meet his gaze. "You know, even if it's not the conventional way to confess one's love to another, I might be able to let myself do it." He said, leaning in to press his lips against yours. They were soft, just as you expected, carrying the comforting scent of wood he had kept upon his arrival—a reminder of home, a home with both you and Treech. 

"I love you to the bottom of my heart. I know our first meetings weren't the best, but the way you cared for Lamina, and even showed care to me, proved something deeper. If we can continue doing that every night until the Games, I'll make sure you genuinely know that I love you." He confessed once the kiss broke. His words carried a weight that nearly brought tears to your eyes, holding you in place. The both of you chuckled at the irony of the situation, yet a newfound sense of confidence enveloped you—something you had never experienced before, especially as someone from a District. 

"Man, I wish we could continue this, but I don't want you to get punished for bringing me here—" This time, you swiftly cut him off, recognizing that it wasn't the right time for such activities, especially just a few days before the Games. Instead, you proposed a deal—a deal he seemed to enjoy a little too much. Every time you had the chance to train with him, just before returning him to the Zoo, you would indulge in cuddling and sometimes reminisce about home. Occasionally, these encounters escalated into intense make-out sessions, leaving him with a desire to mark you visibly. The marks led to teasing from some classmates, making you blush, and occasional interventions from your brother. Despite casual warnings, Treech took pleasure in denying everything with a smirk that your brother despised. To add to his delight, that same night, Treech deepened the marks, leaving a lasting impression. Just to see Snow’s furious face once again. 

Although this little pleasure was only going to last very soon, when the Games were officially commencing and you knew that. With you being at least able to say your final goodbyes to Treech, he could to feel your worrying about his situation. Cupping your face so delicately as a mention that everything was going to be alright. It was the last time that you also felt his lips brushing against yours. A kiss you would not forget so easily. 

During the Games, you and the remaining mentors, alongside your brother, watched with stress and concern for the well-being of your tributes. While your eyes remained fixed on Treech, you also tried your best to ensure Lamina's safety. However, the situation took a dire turn when the poison finally affected Treech. Feeling helpless, you did everything in your power to find a remedy, attempting to prevent the symptoms from worsening and to make them last until only one tribute remained. "The poison!" You angrily tried to draw attention, tears welling up as you called out to your brother, who paid no heed. Seeing you suffer for the one you loved was what he had envisioned from the start. His pleasure lay in witnessing Treech's suffering on screen. "Please! Give him the medication!" You appealed to your District 7's female mentor, but it was too late. Treech's coughing worsened, and your eyes remained fixed on the screen. "Treech..." was all you could say. 

Treech sensed that you were watching him, but whether it was with shame or grief, he couldn't discern. What he was certain of was seeing the expression on your face—a face that conveyed concern and a desperate desire to help. He knew that if the poison were to affect him, you would swiftly send the medication. However, it didn't happen, and he realized it was too late. Lucy had managed to escape, unlike him, who became the prisoner of an inevitable and senseless death. As he noticed the cameras focused on him, he understood that by now, you would be looking at him. "Y/N..." he began to cough in the middle of his sentence, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, including your brother. "I loved you since we met. Please, once I am gone, I want you to know that I genuinely loved and will always love you." 

"No!!" Your voice wavered between tears, desperately trying to advocate for the medication option repeatedly. Cursing under your breath, you fought against Pliny Harrington, who did his best to restrain you. "Y/N..." he tried to console you, sensing the profound grief from everyone's tributes, including yours. What he failed to comprehend was the deep connection between you and Treech, destined to become the Capitol's favorite lovebirds. "It's too late..." His voice turned into a plea for you to stop. It was at that moment that your entire body went numb. In Pliny’s arms, you managed to sit down, and as Snow's victory loomed over you, you realized that your confidence was about to be completely overshadowed once again. You would become Snow's source of pride and victory.

A man you had once loved would forever reside in your heart. In the heart of District 7, you were revered for your role as a caretaker for both its female and male tribute. What you were not aware of was that, unlike Snow, you became the face of purity and trust—a bond between the District and the people of the Capitol. It was a paid respect for the Capitol's most famous lovebirds.

#tboas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #treech #treech tbosas #treech x reader #angst #one shot #fluff #treech imagines #treech x you #reaper ash #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus imagines #treech fanfiction #hunger games x reader #hunger games x you #request open #imagine request

[bimb0fy]

the heart wants what it want; treech

pairings: mentor!treech x reaped!reader

warnings; angst, super short (i have exams T-T)

summary; treech, the 10th hunger games victor, and most importantly, your boyfriend came back from the hunger games in your honor. he has killed for you, done anything in the world only to return to you and your comfort, only to go through the same pain again.

word count; 382

a/n; i made treech the winner of the games and also set it two years later, like snow became dr gaul's mentor after the first games and he suggested having the tributes as the mentors to keep things in control n stuff.

ᵐᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡⁱˢᵗ!! | ⁿᵃᵛⁱᵍᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ!!

— You stood in your place as you watched Treech stand up on the stage, being the only mentor as he was the only victor. You stood in your brown dress overalls and his shirt, the shirt he had worn during his games. A token of good love he always said.

Just as the announcer placed her hand into the bowl, your heart beated faster, and faster, then suddenly stopped as she opened the paper. "Y/n L/n!" She announced. You couldn't comprehend with had happened, standing still as Treech's eyes widened, he searched for you, finding you frozen as he attempted to stop the tears in his eyes.

You walked along the passage, climbing up the stairs as Treech stared at you. He watched as you barely managed to wall correctly, tripping as he quickly caught you, holding you up as you stood waiting for the male tribute.

"Hey baby, it's okay, I won't let anyone hurt you, I promise." He whispered into your ear as you bit back tears. You remembered watching Treech in the games, the Snakes nearly killing him as they killed Lucy Gray and well, you were terrified as he climbed up the wall. You remembered him coughing, almost choking to death, you watched Lamina, your best friend die and Treech blaming himself for it.

You remembered what it was like watching him play the games two years ago, only now you'd go through it. You didn't know if you were as strong or as motivated as him. He placed his hand into yours and rubbed your shoulders as his breaths shallowed. As the male tribute was announced you felt wierry. His breath hitched as he looked at the tribute. You looked beside him to realize it was his best friend. Theo.

It was now clear as day, he had to choose between his lover and best friend, in a way he wished he never had to. You looked up to watch your family weep as his family looked in shock. Treech's mother stared at you, shaking her head as she stared at you then looked over at her son.

"I'm sorry baby." Treech cried as you both walked off towards the train, it was the end, you were going into the games that destroyed him two years ago.

#fanfic #x reader #x female reader #treech tbosas #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #treech x reader #treech fanfiction #district 7 #the hunger games #the hunger games fanfiction #thg x reader

[yukiokami]

my tears ricochet

treech x female 7th district reader

warnings: no use of y/n, third-person narrative, angst, headcanons (9th hunger games winner, treech's family), l-bombs, violence, deaths.

summary: she did everything to prevent him from losing her too, eventually losing him herself.

word count: 859

author's note: my first time writing on tumblr, i had a huge wave of inspiration after listening to sad songs and watching edits of treech. english is not my first language, so i apologize for any mistakes. this is a songfic to my tears ricochet by taylor swift. enjoy, loves.

her name was pulled. among hundreds of others. everything around her is in slow motion, she doesn't hear anything, doesn't see her mother's frightened eyes. she only notices treech's hand rising, he is now ready to volunteer, so she wouldn't be taken to the games. she manages to grab him with both hands and whispers, calming herself rather than him.

"it's going to be okay, i'll be fine, treech."

he shakes his head in disbelief. she can't leave him, leave her mom. die.

and she doesn't understand how she can cope. this is not a self-preservation instinct. it's an instinct to save those she cares about.

"listen, aspen is going to be with me. you can't come with me, please, i can't stand it if you die."

"i can't stand it if you die!" he repeats after her. "i can't lose you!" treech breaks down, despite the huge crowd.

burning tears flow down her cheeks, blurring the dirt on her face, and leaving long streaks.

"that's why i'm not going to die," she looks at him, reassuring. "i'm not going to die, treech. please take care of mom," she says when the peacekeepers grab her when they hold on to each other with the last of their strength.

cause I loved you, I swear I loved you

till my dying day

"i love you, okay? forever," their hands separate and soldiers drag the girl to the stage.

"let her go!" treech hisses, trying to fight the soldiers who are holding him tightly from running after her.

the doors close and she hears him scream.

we gather here, we line up,

weepin' in a sunlit room

when the counter counts down the seconds before the games begin, she can't think, there's a white noise in her head. there are no places to hide in the huge arena. here you can only fight and try to survive. she needs to survive because they are waiting for her at home. treech has no one but her. his parents died in a forest fire, as did her father.

and if I'm on fire,

you'll be made of ashes, too

she starts running towards the center with all her strength and grabs an axe, while two tributes attack two more. they die in seconds. she backs away and a guy from district 4 grazes her arm with a sword, trying to pierce it. she turns around and stabs him in the head with an axe.

the games lasted for several hours, the remaining three tributes, including her, are sitting on opposite sides of the arena, exhausted. aspen was killed by a girl from district 9.

and she's just waiting for the attack.

and so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

this is not a victory, but a simple accident. but it doesn't matter now, because she's going home.

we gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean

some to throw, some to make a diamond ring

they are sitting by a small lake, throwing stones into it, which leaves circles, a month after the hunger games. they devote all their time to each other, and treech is insanely happy that she is with him, that she is alive. she didn't leave him.

"soon I'll earn a lot of money and buy us a house, and we will live there. just the two of us. and then I'll buy you a diamond ring and we'll get married," treech often voiced his thoughts, to which she always laughed and said that they would have to work very hard.

and when you can't sleep at night

(you hear my stolen lullabies)

at night, she was tormented by terrible nightmares that she was back in the arena, she was shaking and nothing could help but funny songs sung to her by her beloved lumberjack in a hat, wrapping her in a warm blanket by his embrace and words about how brave she is.

when his name is pulled at the next reaping, she can't breathe. this just can't be happening. they've been through so much together that they've been torn apart again. she's broken up by games. killed by the reaping. at that carefree time, treech guessed that such an outcome could take place, so he was ready. as much as it was possible.

"you were able to come back to me, and i will do everything to come back to you," he strokes her cheek with one hand, and with the other he puts a ring in her deathly cold ones. "i love you."

the peacekeepers take him away.

she falls to her knees and a frantic scream pierces the entire square.

when the neighbors talk about tributes returning, she joyfully runs to meet treech, confident of his victory. there are two coffins at the square, in one of which lies lamina, and in the other her brave beautiful boy. he didn't come back to her.

you know I didn't want to have to haunt you

but what a ghostly scene

you wear the same jewels that I gave you

as you bury me

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosas x reader #treech x reader #treech tbosas #treech fanfiction

[snowfll]

Make a Move; Treech

pairing - Treech x fem!reader summary - Growing up, you were always attracted to Treech, but you never did anything about it. The doubts and friendship always seemed to get in the way. words - 1.81 k warning - fluff! note - OMG, it’s been so long since I’ve uploaded on here and im so sorry. I experienced a lil bit of writers block, but I have a couple of idea so hopefully I will write more! I also surprisingly love this one-shot, so lemme know if you like it as well!! request more things, you guys come up with better ideas than I do. oh and lamina request coming soon!

You believed you had made it pretty obvious. From the moment you met him in the woods, he was the only one you paid attention to. Others were freaked out by the fact he never left your eyesight—but you didn’t care.

Every time he would speak to you or even look in your direction, you would immediately freeze up. His simple observations of the things you would do made you go crazy.

The adults called it a little crush, but you knew it was more than that—you wanted it to be more than that. Unfortunately, you believed he could only ever view you as the clingy girl he met at a young age. He never did anything to show you there was a mutual liking.

In your childhood, you wouldn’t consider yourselves close. You were in the same friend group, yes, but he liked to play around with the boys while you climbed the trees and sat admiring him from the branches and gossiping with your best friend, Lamina. Whenever you were together, it was often silent—mainly because you were extremely nervous around him.

Sure, you’ve found other boys cute over the years—many who seemed to like you—but they could never compare to Treech. They weren’t caring or natural gentlemen. They didn’t make sure you were comfortable at all times. Treech did. You knew he was the one for you; no one could tell you otherwise.

As you both matured, the crush matured as well. The childish pining after him turned into hanging out and enjoying the time spent with him. On some days, you felt as if your feelings were reciprocated—the flirting and kind gestures. However, on other days, not so much—calling you his best friend and acting like that is all you ever would be. Still, you waited for him to make a move, refusing to do it yourself.

On this particular day, Treech decided to take you out on what you wished to be a date. As Treech knocked on your door, excitement and anticipation bubbled within you. He pulled you out of the house, and together, you ventured deeper into the familiar forest. The air was charged with a mix of playful energy and underlying emotions, creating a sense of unspoken tension.

Engaging in your usual antics, you both ran around, played games, and chased each other through the woods. As you both ran through the trees to your favorite spot, a playful banter ensued.

“Remember that time we got lost here as kids?” Treech chuckled, referring to the lake deep in the forest.

“Yeah, and you thought it was the best adventure ever,” you replied, the memories of your childhood escapades making the present moment even more special.

The day continued with laughter and shared stories. At times, Treech’s actions seemed to carry a different weight—a subtle shift that didn’t go unnoticed.

As you both lay on a blanket, a comfortable silence settled over the scene. The lake stretched out before you, its calm waters reflecting the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. Yet, amidst the tranquility, your gaze kept drifting toward Treech.

He stared thoughtfully at the lake, his eyes reflecting a distant contemplation. The playfulness that had marked the earlier part of the day seemed to have faded into a more introspective mood. You couldn’t help but watch him, wondering what thoughts occupied his mind.

His profile was outlined against the serene backdrop, which held a certain mystery. You found yourself caught in the details—the way his eyes focused on the ripples of the water, the subtle furrow on his brow, the way his fingers absentmindedly traced the pattern on the blanket. There was an undeniable charm in those quiet moments.

But alongside the enchantment, a nagging doubt crept in. Why, despite the laughter and the special moments you shared, did Treech act like your connection was nothing more than a friendship? You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something unsaid—a puzzle piece missing from the picture you painted together.

As he continued to gaze at the lake, you couldn’t resist sneaking glances at his face, searching for clues. Was it something you did or said? Was there a reason he hesitated to show his feelings? What do you have to do for him to give the two of you a try? The unspoken question lingered in the air, and a sense of longing grew within you, wishing for clarity that seemed just out of reach.

The sun soon began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the lake. The water rippled gently, reflecting the changing hues of the sky. It had been quiet for a while; the forest around you seemed to hush its usual sounds, as if respecting the sacredness of the moment.

Breaking the tranquil silence, Treech turned to you, his eyes reflecting a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. “You know, being here with you today has made me realize something.”

Your heart quickened, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. “What is it?” you asked, your voice soft.

He took a deep breath, his eyes locked with yours. “I’ve known you for so long, and I’ve finally come to terms that my feelings for you go beyond friendship. I really like you, more than just a friend.”

A wave of emotions swept over you—surprise, joy, and a sense of relief. The tension that had lingered throughout the day suddenly made sense. You tried to play it cool, but inside you were panicking. This was the moment you had waited for all your life.

Treech continued, “I didn’t want to risk our friendship, but I couldn’t hold this back any longer. You mean a lot to me, and I needed you to know.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Treech, I’ve been feeling the same way since we were children.” The words hung in the air, affirming a connection that had silently blossomed over the years. He looked at you with shock written all over his face—as if he hadn’t expected you to return the feelings.

“Do you know how many nights I spent debating whether I should knock on your door? To let you know, I wanted more. To call you mine?” You asked, letting out all your thoughts and feelings that had accumulated over the years.

The shocked look on his face stayed the same as he opened his mouth to speak. “What? I had absolutely no idea you liked me.”

A playful glint sparkled in your eyes as you responded to Treech’s shock. “Honestly, I thought I made it pretty obvious. I mean, everyone knew. I practically walked around with a sign saying, ‘I like trees.' Did you not notice?”

His expression shifted from shock to a mix of surprise and realization. “No! Everyone knows?”

You chuckled, “Yes! Come on! I was always freezing up whenever you spoke to me, or did you think that was just my thing? And the constant admiration from the tree branches? I practically lived up there just to have a better view of you.”

His surprise morphed into a sheepish grin upon hearing everything you did for his attention. “I guess I was a bit oblivious. I thought you were just being your usual self.”

You playfully nudged him. “My ‘usual self’ was practically shouting my feelings for you. I even climbed trees just to impress you.”

He laughed, the tension disappearing with each shared moment of understanding. “Well, I guess I was too caught up in wanting to look cool in front of you to notice.”

You grinned, appreciating his honesty. “I always thought you were cool.”

Treech’s expression softened, and he nudged you playfully. “Guess I missed out on a lot by not realizing it sooner.”

“I’m glad you made the first move. God knows I wasn’t ever going to tell you.” You confessed, the honesty flowing effortlessly now that the truth was out. As the two of you moved closer to each other, the nervousness that had once lingered vanished in the newfound comfort of honesty.

“Why is that? Why did you hide it for so long?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, curiosity in his eyes.

A thoughtful smile played on your lips. “It might seem kind of lame, but I thought it was better to keep it a secret rather than knowing if you felt the same or not.”

Treech’s gaze held a warmth that mirrored the moonlit night. “You know, I was scared too. Scared that if I admitted my feelings, things would change between us.”

You nodded, understanding his perspective completely. The admission echoed your own fears—you would’ve continued to hide your feelings if it were to preserve the friendship. “It’s funny how we both held back because we cared too much. But now that everything’s out in the open, it feels right, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled with a reassuring tone in his voice. “More than right.” He reached for your hand, a silent affirmation of the newfound closeness. “I’m excited to see where this takes us,” he admitted, his gaze filled with anticipation.

You squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of a shared journey ahead. “Now that I have you, I’m never letting you go.”

The moon continued to illuminate the lake, its reflection rippling with the promise of a future filled with love and honesty. The night, now a canvas painted with shared confessions, marked the beginning of the rest of your life.

As you both gazed up at the stars, a new, comfortable silence settled between you. No longer burdened by unspoken feelings, the air was light, and every shared glance spoke volumes.

A warmth enveloped you both as you leaned against him, the world around you fading away. In the quietude, your hearts beat in unison, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence.

You both felt the magic of the moment—the beginning of a love story that was hidden in the innocence of childhood. This was a night to remember, a night where everything fell into place.

The two of you were destined to be—just as you knew when you were children. Everything you did as a child was worth it—the pinning after him, getting closer to him despite the intense nerves you got. The childhood crush, the silent admiration, the nervous moments that turned into laughter, and the patient waiting for him to make a move—all of it led to this beautiful moment. It was all worth it in the end; you had him.

“It’s always gonna be you.”

#tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #treech fanfiction #onehsot #treech #treech tbosas #i love treech #treech x reader #treech thg #district seven #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #tom blyth #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #fluff #no angst #childhood love #friends to lovers #oblivious

[bumblebugwrites]

chapter 6: bite the hand

Pairing: Victor!Treech x fem!Reader

Summary: Over the next four years, you speak only five times with Treech, each conversation proving more confusing than the last.

Warnings: Cursing, Suggestive Themes, Mention of Injuries, Character Death, Weapons, Violence.

Word Count: 6.6k

Taglist: @nekee-lilac02, @mr-panda357, @yourfavmiki, @blackoutdays13, @dialuvsbangtan, @emgunther

A/N: Well, this is admittedly late, sorry y'all. Also on that note, the update schedule is about to be completely fucked for this fic. As it turns out school is lowkey catching up to me so unfortunately I think I may need to move to posting every two weeks. Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter, which according to my original outline puts us at about halfway through No Evil Angel But Love!

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“I just think that it was a mistake. It should never have happened, and– And it won’t happen again.” And just like that, your heart was shattered, scattered across the floor in a million pieces. Well, maybe not just like that. In fact, for a moment, you’d thought the whole thing was a joke of some sort. But then his eyes had caught yours, cold in a way you’d never seen them before, and you had to stop yourself from staggering back, from hitting the wall, because this Treech, the one standing before you, he looked just like the man who’d put an axe through your heart in a dream you’d tried so hard to forget.

“I don’t understand. Does this have something to do with the fact that you disappeared this morning?” Sure, you had been out of it when he’d left, but it didn’t take long for the panic to set in, waking once more to a cold bed, mind reaching out to a memory formed only an hour ago. A mystery phone call to your room. Treech disappearing out the door.

“No, I– No. Just listen to me. This is it, it’s over.” Not the phone call. Him. He wanted this, and next to that, the phone call felt like something to be forgotten in its entirety.  But why?

“You came here last night. You showed up at my hotel room, saying you couldn’t take it anymore, and now, what? You’ve changed your mind?” Anger was quick to follow confusion in those fleeting moments, and as you surged forward, hands tangling desperately in his shirt, you weren’t sure if the intent was to pull him in or push him away.

“You’re just not–” And his hands were on yours, brushing a sweet, delicate pattern across your knuckles, bringing you that soft, quiet feeling he always had. And for a moment, you could feel him leaning in. To hold you? To kiss you? You weren’t sure. “I don’t want you.” 

It is like a punch in the gut.

“I was enough last night.” Tears cloud your vision as you hold steady willing him to look at you, to pull his gaze from the ground, to wrap his hands around yours once more. They are limp now, hanging uselessly at his sides.

“Maybe you weren’t. Maybe you never were.” You want to scream. To cry. To lash out and disappear and explode with the unmistakable rage inside you. You cannot. You can barely speak.

“Treech, I–”

“We’re done. Don’t talk to me. Don’t touch me. Don’t even look at me.” And with that, he pushes you away, spinning to exit out the door just behind you. Leaving you to crumple to the ground. Alone. Unwanted. 

Over the next four years, you had five more conversations with Treech alone, each leaving you more confused than the last.

The first time you spoke was just over two years after he told you that night had been a mistake. That you had made a mistake.

It was harder to stay away in the beginning. Hardest at night when you could hear his screams, telltale signs of the nightmares you knew he fell prey to. The nightmares that formed mirror images of your own. Several nights, you found yourself frozen outside his door, compelled for some unearthly reason to stand guard, to make heavy, unyielding eye-contact with the painted number 7 as though waiting long enough might make it open without any necessary action. You knew then what you really wanted. To go inside. To assure him it would be okay. To offer him the same place in your room you always had. But then, he didn’t want that. He’d made that clear enough. And so after minutes, or sometimes, hours of waiting, you would escape back to your own room before your presence could be noted. Afraid of the harsh words, he might have stored up this time, lashings for your petty emotions.

It was one of those nights, the first time you spoke, although the nightmare was yours, not his. It had left you in a cold sweat as you jerked yourself from the duvet, still sobbing, and you found yourself wondering when the room had become so unbearably large. A glass of water, you’d thought. A coffee, maybe; chances are you’re done with sleep tonight anyway. You’d wondered how Treech was. You always did when your own nightmares exceeded their typical limits, and the thought had infiltrated your mind until the minute you’d pulled the door open, revealing his seated form just outside your door. Alert. Awake, as though certain his presence alone might ward off any oncoming evil. 

He appeared nearly as shocked as you at the reveal, quickly launching himself to his feet and plastering a grimace across his features, darkened by the little light in the hall. And just as you’d opened your mouth to speak, to question his attendance at the foot of your door, he’d bit with words of his own.

“Could you try not to be so loud? Some people here are sleeping.” You did not populate the hall outside his door so much after that. You did not populate his presence at all.

The second time was out of necessity. It was that same year of the 13th Games, and you had found yourself down a tribute, the girl, Rhea, having lost her life in what was beginning to be known as the bloodbath. Skinner was older, the boy. Eighteen and a walking tragedy, so close to escaping. That was the year before they stopped locking you all in the Academy. Before Lux convinced them that sponsor relations could only bear to improve if mentors were allowed the ability to mingle with the people of the Capitol, within reason, of course. Before the Games grew longer, sometimes lasting over a week. 

The night was young, but you were on your third cup of coffee, unable to tear your eyes from the screen. From Skinner’s restless movements as he sat back to a tree, with eyes that scanned his surroundings in wide, impatient arcs. He was alone, and no allies meant no sleep, so he clung to the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, begging it to carry him to safety. 

On your right, Teff fidgeted with his screen, clearly agitated by an increased sense of anxiety at the prospect of both of his tributes escaping the mess of fighting that began the Games. It was harder that way; you had come to learn. Longer survival meant hope. Hope that will infiltrate your thoughts. Your emotions. Higher risk of attachment. And with two tributes, a higher risk that the death of one would only serve to destroy the other. Or worse, a higher risk that they would be forced to take each other on. You’d seen it happen. In the 11th Games, both remaining tributes came from 2, and while Octavian remained firm and unmoving in his seat, Antonia could barely force herself to watch.

Still, you had liked Skinner, cursed with the gangly limbs of a teenager on the verge of adulthood, with a crooked smile and a biting sense of humor reserved only for Rhea in their short days together, so you pushed on. And if the lingering claws of hope had curled their way around your heart, so be it. Maybe this would be the year you could save one. Maybe this would be the year you saw a kid survive.

To your left, there was Treech. Always Treech, who endlessly invaded your thoughts in those weeks you were forced to travel back to the Capitol. In the years since your first visit, the trips had only increased, with Snow managing to find a reason to gather you all in the ‘Gem of Panem’ at least four times a year. Press, he called it, and Hilarius often assured you that networking of the sort was necessary, but it was hard to believe even from his mouth, and you often felt yourself feeling more inclined to believe Teff’s theories. They just want to remind us who’s in control.

Treech was down a tribute, too; though both had escaped the initial violence, the career pack had managed to track the pair, quickly ending the boy’s life and leaving only his girl to escape. Arbor. It had been some time since you had noted her presence on your screen, but you didn’t dare to even attempt casting a look in Treech’s direction, fearing a rash display of the temper you had come to know as reserved for you and you alone.

And you wouldn’t have had to, really, if it weren’t for what happened next, the crushing of underbrush underfoot, the cacophony of voices infused with a false confidence. Skinner’s head shot up in an instant, fear plain on his features. He stood slowly, pushing himself up from the ground with the bark of the tree cutting into his palm for support. The career pack was coming, and he was as good as dead.

Several low branches stuck out to you, and silently, you begged him to climb in spite of a display earlier that day which assured you he did so with the elegance of a toddler. Still, it was all that was left, and you were clinging to hope. Stupid, useless hope. He turned to size up his route upwards, and the voices grew nearer. It was now or never. The pace was the first problem you noticed as Skinner inched up the tree with the speed of a snail. You realized in passing he’d probably never climbed a tree before. Sure, they weren’t a rarity in 10. There were plenty out on the ranch, and as a child, you often sought solace among their branches when your father had allowed you to tag along with him to work. But for a kid like Skinner, confined to 10’s more industrial parts, spending days cooped up in the slaughterhouse, climbing a tree wasn’t exactly within the realm of knowledge he should possess. 

“Fuck. Come on.”

The second thing you noted was the noise. Certainly, there aren’t many silent ways to climb a tree, with the continual brushing of leaves against the fabric of your clothes, but the footfalls were doing little to help in the way of masking his presence, and though he’d made a bit of progress, you almost wished Skinner would stop moving completely. 

The third and most glaring problem, however, was that you’d finally managed to find Arbor, crouched and observant several branches above Skinner. No weapon. That was good. What wasn’t good was that it would be well within her rights to give him up. And beneficial, too. You suck in a large breath. 

The pack has reached the foot of the tree, though doesn’t seem to note the two tributes hidden within its branches. Still, they idle for a moment, and your whole body tenses with anticipation. Skinner’s foot slips. And you know you shouldn’t, but you shield your eyes, waiting for the impact, incapable of watching him fall into death’s open hands. It doesn’t come. Instead, as you remove several of the fingers obscuring your vision, you find Arbor, hand clinging to the back of his shirt, and her face screwed up into a scowl from the effort of keeping him upright. Skinner’s clumsy hands manage to catch a branch, and he pulls himself up, mouth already opening in a question, but she is faster, pressing a hand to his lips and shaking her head with a vehement look that encourages only silence.

And so he says nothing, and for a while, that’s how they remain, waiting for the pack to move on, her hand over his mouth, simply taking each other in. It’s only once the coast is clear that he dares to speak.

“Why did you save me?”

“Well, I didn’t need you making a bunch of noise and giving me away,” she says, releasing any hold she has on him, and for a moment, her face only serves to support the harsh words, cold in its regard, but the instant his eyes shift towards the ground, it softens, revealing the true intention, simple and unbridled care. She reminds you of Treech.

“Are you gonna kill me now?” Skinner sounds almost defeated, and he does not even bother to meet her gaze as he asks. Her expression, safe from his sight, twists into one of concern before she masks it once more.

“I couldn’t if I wanted to. I don’t have any weapons, and the chances of me strangling you are low at best.”

“I don’t have any weapons either,” Skinner admits before appearing embarrassed by the confession. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not a threat, so– please don’t try to kill me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you could kick my ass,” Arbor returns, her tone flat and a small smirk gracing her features. Skinner flushes at the expression before admitting defeat with laughter of his own when she lets out a chuckle.

“So where’s your partner?” He asks.

“Dead.” The response is factual, but the traces of pain on her face remain obvious. “Yours?”

“Dead.” It is quiet for a moment, and though neither of them speaks, you note Arbor eyeing Skinner's rope.

“Maybe we could make a deal?” She asks.

“Like what?” He is slow to respond but less guarded than before.

“Like allies?” And she extends a hand in a truce, only continuing after noting Skinner’s hesitation. “Listen, I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted, and if I’m gonna sleep in this tree, I’d prefer to do it tied down and with someone to watch my back. We could take shifts. Even if it's just for tonight?”

“Okay.”

It is not then that you speak with Treech. Nor is it over the following days, watching the pair grow closer. Watching them reach the final five with the boy from 11 and the girls from 1 and 2. No. The days register simple interactions. Nods indicating bread and water will be sent, and curt conversations regarding strengths and weaknesses. It is only on the sixth night that you share more than a handful of words, and even then, it isn’t much. And yet, it is more. Heavier than any of the terse exchanges you’d held since you stopped speaking altogether.

Because, on the sixth night, Arbor and Skinner share a kiss. He had fallen earlier in the day. No simple fall either. His leg would only carry him so far, but Arbor remained loyal, and the two traveled as a unit. Under the moonlight and the cover of darkness, she had stopped them to take a look at the injury, steady hands unraveling the makeshift bandage she had torn from her own shirt. Skinner only cringed in pain, regardless of her soft-spoken attempts to comfort him as she poured water from a nearby stream on the wound.

“It’s no use. I’m dead weight. You should go. Get out of here before I accidentally screw you over.” The defeat is evident in his tone, but so is something else, something more. A need for her to make it out. To survive.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Her jaw is tense as she focuses on the work before her, but you sense it is not out of a need to concentrate.

“Arbor, I’m not gonna let you die for me–” He is exhausted, eyes heavy with sleep and glistening with pain. Sweat collects at his brow, and he raises a lazy hand to wipe it away, but she gets there first, swiping her thumb across his forehead before speaking again.

“Well, I’m not gonna let you die, period. So, just drop it.”

“Arbor.” His hand moves to still her own, as though begging her to meet his gaze.

“Skinner?” She asks, annoyed by the disruption but looking up nonetheless.

“What happens if it’s just us?” And you could hear a pin drop in the Academy lecture hall; not even Lucky Flickerman bothers to present his input.

“Well, we aren’t– That’s not… I’m gonna get you out of here,” she states with finality. Beside you, Treech stiffens, the scene beginning to appear all too familiar. Two kids from 7 and 10, with nothing and everything on the line at the same time.

“I wouldn’t let you do that. I wouldn’t be able to let you do that.”

“Why? Why are you being so selfish? Just let me save you–” And she pounds at his chest, but there is no feeling in her attacks. It takes Skinner no effort at all to stop her fists, collecting her hands within his own.

“I don’t want to live if it means you have to die. Because I– Well, I know I haven’t known you that long, but I– Well, I–” And suddenly she is kissing him, telling him wordlessly she feels the same. And suddenly, the world is crashing down, fear pooling in your stomach at the consequences you are sure will come, and you can’t help it, looking at Treech, who is already looking at you. Your mouth is dry.

“I don’t– I–” Your chest is constricting, and the room feels hot, hotter than ever before, and your mind is spinning at a million miles an hour. You cross to the entrance in mere moments, not even noting Treech directly behind you until you have shoved your way out, back slamming into the wall just outside as you crumble to the ground.

“I– I–”

“You’ve got to breathe. You– We have to get back in there. It isn’t something until we make it something.” His tone is cold, but he’s crouched before you, and when his hands reach to pull you off the floor, you swear his thumb runs carefully over your arm once. Twice.

“But it is. You know it is. And if those kids die at the Capitol’s hand, I’m gonna spend the rest of my life wondering if it's my fault. If it’s our fault.” And it's true. It may not have been love for him, but for you, the echoes are everywhere. And though you’re sure the Capitol never saw what happened that night, Dr. Gaul knew enough for the connection to be dangerous.

“You don’t know if that’s what they’ll see–”

“Is it what you saw? Because it’s the first thing I thought about. And I know you hate me now, but you can’t be stupid enough to think that Coriolanus Snow could miss it.” His face only grows more tense before it passes to stone once more.

“What other choice do we have?” He’s right. Of course, he is right. So you reenter and take your places, fix yourselves with masks of unbothered poise, and for nothing. They are dead by morning, carcasses wrapped around one another in a pile of bones and flesh once the Gamemakers’s mutts have finished. And as the camera pans away, you swear you feel a lingering gaze on you, but you do not look, only fake a cough as you brush the tears from your cheeks and fix your steady gaze ahead.

That was the year Teff’s boy won, Reed, and once more, before you are allowed to return home, you are forced to attend a party at the President’s mansion, this time with the inclusion of a Victor’s dance. 

“Teff, come on, I am begging you–” You begin, but the older boy is already shaking his head.

“I can’t, alright. Octavian already asked me if I’d dance with Teresa, and I gave my word that I would. He registered us a week ago,” he sighs, and you want to scream; how could you have been stupid enough to forget about this?

“What about Reed?” At this point, anyone will do. Anyone who isn’t Treech.

“He’s not doing the dance; his leg is broken, remember?” And you do; the boy had fallen off the top of the cornucopia while securing his win, landing on top of the girl from 1, whose neck broke on impact.

“Well, do you think Mags will switch with me?” You are grasping at straws, aware the answer will be no the moment the suggestion passes your lips.

“You know the deal, the only reason we are allowed to have partners from other Districts is because–” But you interrupt him, already knowledgable of your oncoming defeat.

“We don’t have any from our own. I know. I just don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“It’s one dance, it can’t be that bad.” He reassures, but you know better.

“We haven’t spoken in years.”

“You spoke the other day–” Teff corrects.

“That was different; I was basically having a meltdown.” You recall that moment in the hall. His thumb on your arm. Part of you is convinced it never happened at all.

“I don’t know what to tell you; take it or leave it; this is your only option.” He shrugs, and the conversation is over; you both know it, but not before you vocalize your frustration one last time.

“Fuck.”

That is it, the third time you talk to Treech, at the President’s mansion, surrounded by Capitol citizens. Before you take the floor, you recall your last dance in this place with a certain Heavensbee. Your mind drifts to the events of that night. To what happened after you departed. You shake the thoughts away. Now is no time to linger on what used to be. 

When it is time to go, Treech appears at your side, extending his arm to lead you onto the floor, and you note that he seems to flinch away from your touch, which barely grazes the crook he creates for you. You are already seething. Was it really so painful for him to even touch you? Were you really that deplorable? It is a simple waltz, one your escorts were able to instruct you on with ease, and though the first few steps are taken in silence, as the music continues, you hear the other victors around you begin to chatter. You and Treech remain quiet, your eyes fixed on the floor below, watching the pattern of your steps. Thinking about anything except his hand on your waist and the other delicately gripping yours.

“You’re not supposed to look at your feet,” he mutters, and that gets your attention enough to force your gaze away from its previous target.

“Excuse me?”

“You aren’t supposed to look at your feet. It makes it easier to screw up the steps.” You don’t answer, only fixing your sightline over his shoulder instead, fully expecting the silence to engulf you once more.

“I hate dancing.” He sighs bitterly, and you almost have to resist a smile because it makes sense that the stoic boy before you would loathe the exercise in trust and coordination, ripe with opportunities for embarrassment. For creating holes in his well-kept facade.

“I don’t.” And you aren’t really sure what prompts you to speak, but maybe it is his clear discomfort with the practice, evident in the way his shoulders bunch awkwardly with each turn and his eyes, in spite of his own advice, continue to flit down towards the floor.

“There’s lots of dancing back in 10. Line dances, mostly from a long time ago. But there’s other stuff, too. Once a month, there's a big dance at City Hall. There’s this big open barn connected to the back, and they decorate it, and everyone goes. My dad taught me how, so it reminds me of him.” You can’t help but smile at the memory of your father, pulling the hat from his head and dropping it onto your own before spinning you around the kitchen in preparation for your very first dance. When the day finally came, you’d already forgotten all the steps, but he didn’t mind setting your feet atop his own, the two sets of boots moving in a stilted pattern around the barn, all shrieking laughter and love.

You feel Treech’s shoulder relax beneath your touch, his gaze now fixed on you and nothing else. The movements become more fluid, and by the end of the dance, it feels like flying. That is until something else seems to catch his attention just outside of your sightline. And suddenly, his grip on your waist tightens, ushering you closer, but his eyes grow cold. For a moment, you could have sworn he was shielding you from something until he wasn’t. Until the music came to an end, and he was pushing away, but not before leaving you with a cutting remark.

“Thanks for the story; I’ll remember that the next time I’m pretending to give a shit about you.” You almost gape at him, unsure how to respond, but as rage, hot and untethered, licks its way up your spine, you give into the cruelest thing you can think to muster.

“I hate you.” And he flinched as though the words had hurt him. As though he hadn’t spent every moment of the last three years trying to probe that very reaction from your lips. And you knew he must not have meant it. That it was nothing more than the residual regret leaving his body, but a part of you relished it. Relished causing him pain after the torture he had put you through.

“Good.”

Victory Tours weren’t uncommon by then, so when it was announced the tribute from 11 and his mentor would be making their way to 10, people were well prepared. Lennox in particular seemed to be veritably jumping with joy, unable to sit still after having received the knowledge that you would be hosting the visitors in your new home in the Victor’s Village. Even Fawn who at the now ripe age of fourteen was determined to allow nothing to faze her seemed excited at the prospect of the celebration that typically occurred in tandem with the arrival of a victor. 

You on the other hand were simply happy to see Teff, pulling the taller man into a warm hug the moment he set foot off the train. He seemed not to mind, laughing as he pulled you tighter against him and after a long day of festivities including a night of dancing and the best food 10 could offer, you found yourselves sat around your kitchen table, enjoying one another’s company and a couple of drinks.

“Are we gonna talk about what happened at the mansion? That night, at the party? Quite a scene you two caused,” Teff asked, finally digging into what you knew he’d been itching to talk to you about. You allowed your head to slump forward, burying your face within the comfort of your arms with a groan.

“What am I supposed to say? I was being very civil. He’s the one that ruined it.” Teff only nodded in understanding, having come to know the events that made up your rocky relationship with Treech through snippets divulged over the years.

“You know I’m just worried about you is all. Just wish you would fly under the radar like the rest of us–”

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. Tell me about you. About home. How’s Harvest?” Teff was quick to relent, never displeased when talking about his favorite subject, his wife of two years. 

“She’s good. She’s– Well actually I’ve been meaning to tell you this– She’s pregnant.” And though the news reeks of joy, there is an uneasy smile on his face. Still, you are quick to rid him of it.

“That’s incredible! I’m so happy for you.” And you are, beaming from ear to ear, but a part of you aches, just as you know it does for him, for that unborn child. For the world they will surely face.

The fourth time you spoke, it was your fault. At least, that’s what Treech told himself. It was the year of the 14th Hunger Games, and in preparation, the Capitol was running a television program highlighting each of the Districts. It was for that reason Treech told himself it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when the small screen in the corner of the hotel bar filled with Lamina’s face, especially given that she was his District partner and, as he was the only existing victor from 7, an obvious choice for closer study. Still, it didn’t stop the shock from cutting to his core like a knife. 

You had taken the seat beside his, though clearly not intentionally. It was the only place left in the whole bar, and upon your arrival, he had watched you hesitate to even stay, but with the Games set to start in two days, you needed a drink, exhausted by the prospect of another year.

It was as though you could sense his discomfort, gaze clearly flitting in his direction and dragging across his tense form. The television program blared out, filling any gaps in conversation left by the bar’s occupants, and you observed it keenly following Treech’s reaction.

“She seemed kind.” And there you were, attempting to comfort him after all he’d done to push you away.

“She cried a lot.” It is easier than telling the truth. Than admitting he had known Lamina long before the Games. That she was family, a cousin on his mother’s side.

He often saw Lamina in you. In your quiet moments of soft kindness and generosity. Even in moments of fear, watching you steel yourself and move forward in spite of the difficulties. Sometimes, he would imagine a world with no Districts or Games. A world where a gentler version of you who had not been left hardened by survival had met Lamina, and the two of you had become fast friends, spending your days whispering confessions among the branches of the tallest trees or stretched out in a field, you with a pencil and paper and Lamina fashioning a crown of flowers.

“You remind me of her.”

“Because I’m weak?” Your brow furrowed as you gazed down into the drink before you, preparing yourself for the harsh words you had come to expect of Treech.

“Because you’re brave.” He couldn’t help it really, the way it sprang forward from his lips, toppling out before he could fight to keep it in. He suspected somewhere in the wide universe, the spirit of Lamina was laughing at him. That she was somehow responsible for the admission. He hated her for it. Hated himself. Your own face revealed little more than an obvious state of shock, blank blinking eyes staring back at him when he finally summoned the courage to fix your gaze with his own. Your mouth moved, jaw seeming to hinge and unhinge, but nothing came out. Nothing until the soft syllables of his name slipped from your lips in a stilted sort of way, like a sharp breath. 

Treech was on his feet before you’d finished, the remainder of his drink easily downed in his haste to depart, but as he turned one last time to eye the television in the corner, he could have sworn your eyes were brimming with tears.

The final time you spoke to Treech, it felt as though he had something more to say. Like the words he wished to express had caught on his tongue like glue, unable to escape. It was the final day of the 14th Games, five years exactly since your own. On days like that, you forced yourself to remember the things that often felt too painful. The names that sunk like stones in your chest, fading each year into more distant memories. Rye, with his eyes like two wide saucers. Orion, who was so close to victory that he had nearly succeeded in having it. Baron, the boy from back home who’d lost his life within minutes, figure slumped and unmoving in the center of the arena for the remainder of the Games. And, of course, there were others. Brandy and Tanner. Bee and Colt. Rhea and Skinner. Kids from home. Kids just like you. Except here you were, not dead, while they lay, presumably rotting in some mass grave deep within the Capitol’s walls. The thought made you sick.

That year, your fourth as a mentor, your tributes hadn’t even managed to outlast the bloodbath. The second Rochelle’s body hit the ground, you knew it was over, but it didn’t keep you from hoping. Hoping against reason, she would find a way to fight it. To get back up. She hadn’t. And that year, as the buzzer rang out and the bile rose in your throat as it always did, you noted that the pain was less. Less intense. Less crippling. And then the disgust was back again, drowning you, with its aim pointed inwards, armed and ready to feast on your heart. How could you be so cruel? How could you allow yourself to become so hardened and unfeeling? 

Because it is easier. Because there has to be a better way. Because you will never survive this if you cannot learn to leave some things behind. Still, you’d never left a single thing behind your whole life, clinging to every passing thought, person, or feeling like it might be the last. So when Rochelle was gone, signaling your Games had finished, you pulled the small notebook from the inner pocket of your vest and scribbled her name just below Gavin’s with its own set of notes. 

Rochelle. Two sisters, no parents. Lived with her father’s brother and worked nightshifts at the slaughterhouse. 15. Kind. Enjoyed the color green. Was learning to knit with some of the excess wool from her uncle’s work at a nearby farm, sheering the sheep.

Your fingers traced over the list, gently passing each name with the pad of your thumb. So many names. It was easier now to write them down. It was easier now to emote, to feel openly without the watchful eye of the Capitol analyzing your every move just behind Lucky Flickerman. Well, at least without it trained directly on your soul.

A bit further down the bar, Lux sat by herself as well; Beau tucked into the seat beside Trawl, the two having become closer over the years. Maybe even too close, you thought regretfully, mind flitting to a time you had caught the former making a quiet escape from Trawl’s room in the dead of night. Still, you’d bit your tongue, refusing to lecture someone you were aware already knew of the potential consequences. Besides, words often fall on deaf ears when spoken from a position as precarious as yours.

There were three kids left then, each with no alliance in place to keep them safe. A boy from 2, a girl from 5, and Maple, Treech’s girl from 7. She was ruthless, doing little in the way of preserving any image of humanity with her kills, but you understood that there was more than what appeared to pool on the surface. That those who seemed the most heartless were often the most human of all, filled with an unparalleled desperation to return. For a loved one. For themselves, hoping to go back to some semblance of a childhood they would never see again. Your heart swelled for her. For all of them. Still, you’d been doing your best to avoid her mentor since your last encounter. Afraid that he might snap once more, leaving you frustrated and hollow. Or worse, that he might plant some ridiculous seeds of hope as he had with your fourth conversation, calling you brave before disappearing completely. He was infuriating. Aggravating. Annoying, vexing, and completely incensing. 

He was also sitting directly across the bar, arm draped over the seat of the woman beside him with the same lazy arrogance you had come to register as a part of his Capitol persona, a smirk painted light and unshakable across his face. It was as though you could not even recognize the man before you. Still, he looked good. That much, you could easily admit, curls on the lengthier side now compared to the more cropped cut you’d last seen him with. You wondered if they still felt the same, if running your hands through them would still have the intoxicating effect it had years ago. You want to punch yourself in the face for the indulgence of a thought like that, forcing your gaze away with the heat that rises to your cheeks, and just in time, it seems, as the screen switches to capture Maple, finishing off the girl from 5. It is over in a second, and all of the sudden, there are only two remaining. 

Your heart aches for her, the dead girl from 5, without a mentor or guidance, left in the dark. Still, you cannot stop your gaze from traveling across the bar again to fix on Treech, only to find he is already looking at you. The woman beside him has rid herself of all pretense and is curled into his side, back arched like a cat. And yet, he appears almost regretful, eyes trained on your face with the sort of steely focus that rarely graced his features these days. 

Hours later, when Maple does win, pushed over the finish line with the help of several grandiose sponsorships, you can’t say you are all that surprised, no. The real shock comes as you move to exit the bar when a hand catches your forearm within its grasp. You almost ignore it. Almost push to continue on your steady path toward freedom, but it pulls hard, whipping you around, nearly sending you barreling into the chest of your assailant. Treech. And he stands there, blubbering like a fish, features painted with the unsubtle earnesty of a boy. And that alone is enough to stop you in your tracks.

“I– I–”

But not for long. You’d learned your lesson long ago. Wrenching your arm from his grasp, you spin on your heel before he so much as forms a second word, making for the elevator. You would not fall prey to him again. Not now, not ever. In your eyes, Treech was as good as dead.

It was another month before you saw him again, although, on the morning of the Victory Tour’s arrival, you were nowhere to be found within the awaiting procession. Despite the Capitol’s wishes, you’d continued work on the ranch in your free time, and this morning was no exception. Especially considering you’d requested the shift, putting as much distance between yourself and the upcoming ceremonials as possible. 

Just last night, you’d sent notice to the mayor that you’d been feeling unwell, vomiting, and the like, pleading to be kept from the tour for the safety of those involved. He’d kindly agreed, considering your consistent attendance in previous years, and so you’d spent the last few hours with Bluebell, who had grown over time into as much your horse as one could be, walking the ranch’s perimeter and assessing the different pastures for any sign of intrusion the previous night. Finding none, you dismounted, ridding the creature of everything but her bridle and allowing her to graze within your sightline as you sat in the grass, pencil at the ready and sketchbook perched easily in your lap. 

And so the morning passed in easy silence between the pair of you, only returning to the barn just before lunch due to necessity, though you nearly turned on your tail as the building came into view. The form was clear enough from afar, leaned up against the side of the old building, and at first, you felt your chest fill with anxiety, concerned that perhaps the mayor had caught onto your lie from last night to come get you. But as you drew closer, you noted that familiar head of curls you would recognize anywhere, accompanying the lanky form of a young man. Treech.

#treech #treech fanfiction #treech x reader #treech thg #treech tbosas #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #hunger games #thg series #district 7 #x reader #neabl #no evil angel but love

[whenykyk]

Fate

Chapter II

Treech tbosas X fem mentor! Reader

The next day at around 10 AM you and Coriolanus stood at the train station waiting for the tributes to arrive. Coriolanus was holding a white Rose and looking deep into thought as he stared at the Rose.

“Are you nevrous?”

“No, I believe i might have some luck with her. The way she sang showed me she’s a performer…they make the best spectacles which means my odds of winning the plinth prize are not too bad.” He said in a nonchalant tone.

You where genuinely shocked to hear your dear friend speak about her as if the only reason she mattered was so he can succeed.

“Well, what about her well being?”

“What about it?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“I- well…it’s just…they are so much more than just spectacles for entertainment Coryo…they’re children just like us. The youngest of them is 12 and the oldest is 18. Imagine if the roles where reversed and your mentor cared only for his success and not for your salvation.”

“They’re district. They’re filth.”

You where shocked to hear your friend, your Coryo, to speak about the districts in such a way. He’s friends with Sejanus and this is how he views districts? How could he possibly be friends with Sejanus who is from a district himself but have these views?. It had you thinking. What if Coryo sees Sejanus as filth? What if it’s all and act? Is this why he lies so much? You where so confused…never did you think this is how Coryo viewed them…maybe even viewed Sejanus…

“They’re here.”

You shifted your attention to the tributes coming out of the trains as Coriolanus went to go look for Lucy Gray. You looked around till you saw him. Treech looked much different in person. His eyes where a bit red and swollen, his face was contorted in a angry look. He helped his district partner get down. The poor girl looked wrecked as tears kept falling from her eyes. Regardless of her crying state and treech’s angry look you approached them.

“Hello!”

Your voice ringed out as the two shifted their attention to you. Treech looked on guard as he stood infront of Lamina.

“I’m (Y/N), your mentor!”

“Whats a mentor?”

“Well…I’m basically suppose to help you win the games.”

His face quickly turned into one of anger and disgust.

“You’re capitol?”

“Yes..”

“I don’t want your help. I dont want anything from you or anyone that has anything to do with this!”

He raised his voice and peacekeepers came over and grabbed and took him away towards a van. You knew he’d be angry but you need him to trust you. You turned your attention to a peacekeeper.

“Excuse me…where is the van taking them?”

“We cant say miss, you should leave. No one is allowed here.”

The peacekeeper walked away. As you looked back at the van you saw one of the tributes try to run away with several peacekeepers hot on his heels. You went closer to see what would happen and before you know it someone grabbed her arm and pulled you with them into the van. You fell onto the metal floor as the person wraps his arm around you pulling you into a corner. You looked up and saw it was Coriolanus who did so. As you where about to say something he put his hand over your mouth as the peacekeepers threw the tribute in the van and closed the doors. Now you where beginning to get scared. You where in a vehicle with 24 people who hate the capitol. You and Coriolanus stood up and you held his arm tightly. Everyone was staring at you and Coriolanus.

“Hi.”

Coriolanus spoke up as went more behind him.

“Whats the matter pretty boy, you two in the wrong cage?”

The district 11 male asked looking dead into Coriolanus eyes.

“No, this cage is delightful.”

The moment those words left Coriolanus mouth the 11 boy came over and held him tightly against the wall of the vehicle. You heard some tributes encourage the boy to hurt Coriolanus and that made your heart race with panic.

“I will kill you right now!”

You couldn’t just stand their as your friend was gettting threatened.

“Stop!”

Your voice rang out as everyone’s attention shifted to you.

“Don’t hurt him please…he- we don’t want any trouble!”

The girl from 4 stood up and creeped towards you.

“Whats stopping us from killing him… and you.”

“I wouldn’t do that if i where you.”

It was Lucy Gray who spoke up this time.

“If you kill either of them they’ll just kill you and your people back home…besides blondie’s my mentor, i might need him.”

“Oh yeah? And why does rainbow over here get a mender? What makes her special?”

“You all get mentors.”

“Why aren’t they here then?”

“Just wasn’t inspired i guess..”

Lucy Gray looked up at Coriolanus with a slight smirk. The district 11 boy let go of Coriolanus and he pulled you towards him. The district 10 boy spoke up.

“Who has the pleasure of being the little lady’s tribute?

“Back off ten.”

You did not expect Treech to say something. The whole time he just stared as the tributes threatened you and Coriolanus and now he wants to say something. Your thought where cut off by the vehicle jerking. Suddenly you fell to the floor along with most tributes. He hit against a firm chest and felt someone hold you. You looked and saw Treech but just as you where about to say something the door flew open and you along with everyone else fell out.

A/N: english isnt my first language y’all so lets not judge too much ALSO i really want ro make a love triangel for treech, you and Coryo lmk.

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #treech x reader #treech tbosas #lucy gray baird #fanfic #lucy gray x coriolanus #treech fanfiction #coriolanus x you #sejanus plinth #sejanus x reader

[venusbyline]

Omg can you imagine Treech holding your hand and talking you through it😭 he’s such a sweet boy, and his sweetheart’s comfort and pleasure is above everything else to him.

💌 -> omg that's so sweet 😭😭 i'm really obsessed with soft treech scenario

⚠️: Smut, Praise Kink, Soft Treech, Riding, Mentor Treech x Mentor Reader (female).

Treech's more of a giver than a receiver. The most important part of sex was seeing how good he makes you feel. Your moans, your face... You were so pretty that he could easily cum just by watching you.

“Such a good girl…” Treech intertwined his hands with yours as you chased your orgasm, your pussy squeezing his cock every time you rolled the hips.

You were so lost in the feeling of being fucked so deep that you could barely keep your eyes open. Your brain was completely blank, the only thought being about how good it felt having Treech inside you.

He groaned when you bit your own lip, just trying to prevent the volume of your sounds from increasing even more. Disturbing the other mentors on the train would be a very embarrassing and unnecessary situation.

"You look so gorgeous, my sweetheart..." It was his turn to bite his lips. He was ecstatic as he admired the sight of your bouncing boobs and the sound of your whimpers. "Such a good girl for me."

#venusbyline #treech x reader #treech fanfiction #treech tbosas #treech thg #treech #treech x female reader #treech smut #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas smut #tbosas x reader #tbosas x you #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x y/n #hunger games #thg smut #thg fanfiction #fanfiction requests #writing requests #my writing #tbosas scenarios

[ballad-of-birdy-lamb]

The request was made by @fleorsee

Won't you stay with me, my darling?

Treech x Fem! Tribute! Reader (romantic hurt comfort) Summary: Treech is reaped alongside fem! Reader, but she's far too sorrowful to pay attention to much else other than becoming a tribute. Contains: mention of death, murder, hurt/comfort (reader being comforted), hints at su1cide (about unnamed Seven victor), hints at panic attacks (towards unnamed victor). Word count: 5.4k ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The reaping for the tenth Hunger Games had been another shitshow, as had every year since the first.

All the boys lined up on their side, the girls the other. Treech had been called and he went to the podium reluctantly, no matter if his face showed that or not. But you had brought the District some attention. Your name had been called at the reaping and almost immediately other girls within nearby lines ran to hold you close and sob.

It wasn’t until their tears flowed that yours did too. Seconds after you felt their hands grasping at your clothes, grabbing at anything that could keep you close, your eyes had watered too and your wails didn’t sound too different to your friends’.

The entwined bodies were pulled from each other rather harshly, finally showing your figure to the Capital citizens, the crowd, and Treech who you truly were. You were brought next to him and shown off for District Seven’s tenth Hunger Games tributes.

And now as you stood at the train station, two peacekeepers standing besides you both, it was awkward. The silence was sickening, the skin around your tearful eyes having grown sensitive from you constantly wiping them.

Treech didn’t worry about that though, he was too worried about what could happen to both you and him while in the Capital and the arena. The idea of his death wasn’t something he wished to get to so soon. The same could be said for you. He knew so little about you but he had enough empathy to understand that you felt the same, more physically too.

Treech looked over at you, the tears having partially dried into a shine around your cheeks. You occupied yourself with picking at your fingers or feeling at the cloth of your clothes. He couldn't help gazing at you, looking at the fabric of your clothes, seeing the intricate details on the cloth. It made him think of the browns and vague blues of his attire, having felt slightly underwhelming next to you. It was true to an extent, his lifeless reaction to his name call probably made him seem underwhelming too.

A rust-colored cattle car pulls into the station. Treech looks at it with uncertainty. Not many animals were ever brought to the district, so it was either for animal meat or for you both. He had heard the Capital brought the tributes in cattle cars, so it was likely for you both. Which was quickly proven correct.

The door is thrown open by a nearby peacekeeper. You crooned your head to look into the car, seeing the slightly dirty hay sitting on the wood flooring. Treech's lips drew into a line while his nose scrunching from the smell. It smelled disgusting, even as far as you both were from the train.

Treech looked over at you, wondering how you felt about the situation and the train car entirely. His questions were quickly answered as your hand went to your face and pinched your nostrils closed, your expression forming into one of displeasure. Treech’s mind went to your clothes and the possibility they would get dirty and ruined from the disgustingness from the car.

The peacekeepers beside you pushed you both forward towards the cattle car. Their demand was met with reluctance from both you and Treech but you went along anyway. He climbed onto the train, his nose wrinkling at the smell of the train car. Either way, he turns back to you to help you up. His hand took yours gently, hoping you wouldn't see him as a possible threat, now or in the arena.

You gratefully took his hand but didn’t vocally thank him, simply giving him a look. A brighter look than you would have given anyone else. You swiped your shoe over the hay, moving the beige colored grass out of your way once you sat on the wood floor. Treech does something similar but sits across the cattle car, not trying to get near you.

The peacekeepers closed the doors harshly, causing both you and Treech to jump a bit. He sighed and leaned against the metal walling. Hoping to calm his heart, his fingers tracing the details on his palm, his fingertips lightly brushing between creases and over the sores from work brought a mindless feeling to him. He had done something similar when he was in school, his mind having naturally wandered off to other places as he traced the delicate intricacies of his palm then the veins on his hand.

Your legs were close to your chest, curling your body to comfort yourself. Treech didn’t try comforting you, he simply didn’t know what to do. He’s comforted people before but not in situations like this. When he was young, he would comfort his friends when they got hurt but this was a different kind of hurt. This was worse than Treech thought he could ever comfort you through. So he didn’t try. But he’d have to talk to you at some point.

“You’re in my math class, right?” Treech asked, hoping to break the ice. Your eyes trail to him as you try stifling your sniffles, which was a failure. “I might have gotten you mixed up but you look very familiar.”

You stare at him, sniffling before nodding. “I could say the same for you,” You mutter and turn your head down to your hands. “Ms. Ecordium, yes?” He nods with a slight smile.

“Yep,” he mumbles awkwardly and looks down at his hands. You nod, wait several seconds before going back to looking out the crack in the wall. The sunlight shines from your forehead to your bottom lip, covering your skin in the soft golden glow.

The silence was brought back with the familiar awkwardness from the train station. Treech glanced at you again, seeing the movements of shadows over your cheek, showing the train slowly picking up speed.

He sighs, setting his hat near him as he laid down. Treech’s thoughts were plagued with what could be in the arena, how he would hold up with the other tributes who were possibly stronger than him. But he eventually closed his eyes, the last thing he sees is you sitting in the corner, looking out the crack in the wall.

♡♡♡

It was roughly 6:30 at night when Wovey and Bobbin, the District Eight tributes, had been brought to the same train car. Bobbin didn’t try speaking to you or Treech’s sleeping body, Wovey did though. It was only a small “hello” and a wave that had been made in your direction, which you had done back out of politeness.

The sun had finally set and Wovey and Bobbin curled up in their pile of hay, which had been gathered by the both of them. You offered to help but Bobbin said they could do it on their own, leaving you to grovel in your moonlight. Now, they slept, Wovey’s blonde hair that had been pulled from the bun to keep her comfortable, the hairband around her wrist. Her head rested on Bobbin’s arm while they slept.

The night had grown quiet, the only sound filling the night sky was the screeching train rails and the soft snoring coming from the Eight tributes and Treech. The train car rocked lazily though it moved hastily across the countryside. Your tears had dried hours prior when you couldn’t produce any more tears, leaving just soreness from constantly wiping the diluted water from your cheeks.

The idea of you never getting back home and seeing your friends again plagued your mind. You couldn’t think of anything but their cries as they held you close, pleading that you wouldn’t leave. And there was a possibility you would never go home, your fate being held in another tribute's palms, their blood covered hands.

Treech gradually opened his eyes, the darkened car only lit by the small cracks of moonlight shining down on the countryside. He sat up begrudgingly, his body rocking back and forth just as the train car did.

He lazily reached into his pocket, his arm slightly sore from sleeping on it. He pulled out the silver pocket watch, reading 11:52 PM, and sighed. It had been a long while that he had slept, it’s unlikely that he would sleep for the rest of the night. Treech ran his fingers gently through his hair, trying to fix himself just a little. His eyes eventually adjusted to the darkness.

Treech stared at you as you sat in your corner, curled up in a ball, trying to comfort yourself the best you could.

“(Y/n)? Are you crying again?” Treech asked then paused, pressing his lips into a line, realizing how mean he might have sounded. But thankfully you didn’t consider crying more at his question. Instead, you nodded.

“Yeah,” you answer and look away, back through the crack in the wooden wall, watching the moon again. The silver shined onto your skin, showing the layer of tears left untouched by your hand.

Treech’s mind immediately thought you were embarrassed, why else would you look away so quickly? He pursed his lips, looking around at the hay that surrounded his body, his hat on the gold grass. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about that,” he stated simply, rubbing his eyes.

You look back at him again and shake your head. The back of your palm wiped the newfound tears. “No, I’m not embarrassed,” you assure and sigh, which was interrupted by a hiccup. “I just keep crying.”

Treech’s eyes trail to Wovey and Bobbin who sleep soundly in their pile of hay, their bodies still but full of life. He looks back at you again and nods. “I get that,” he mutters awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

Your tears sparkled on your skin from the silver moon grazing over the sky. Treech’s dark eyes looked down at yours as you sobbed. And it dawned on him, he didn’t think too much about going back to District Seven. He hadn’t shed a tear while waiting for or on the train. Maybe it was just how quickly he had accepted his demise or how his friends and family didn’t react either. It didn’t matter now.

“Do you… um,” Treech hesitates, looking down at his hands. “Hold you? I meant, do you want me to hold you?”

You stare at him silently, thinking about his offer. But it didn’t take too much time to finally have an answer.

It only took a matter of seconds for you to crawl into his arms, laying your head on his chest, your arms wrapped tightly around him. The softness of your clothes and the tightness of your hold reminded Treech too much of home. It almost comforted him too. Knowing your arms were open to him just as much as his to you was enough.

“I don’t want to die!” You sobbed and curled into yourself more, which Treech didn’t think was possible. His arms tightened around you, pulling you to his shoulder, which you accepted quickly. The tip of your nose poked over the muscle between his shoulder and neck.

Treech awkwardly sat with you, keeping you in his arms, caged around your trembling body. He no longer had to think of comforting things to say.

“You won’t die,” Treech assures and hesitantly pets your head, his breath delicately touching your cheek. It helped you slightly, but it brought in the idea of his death. As little as you knew him, it still meant a lot for him to stay alive.

You didn’t say anything for a long while, just keeping close to Treech and making sure to calm your breathing, which was only interrupted by sniffles and hiccups.

“You’ll go home to your family,” Treech muttered, the joint of his pointer finger gently rubbing your cheek. “And they’ll have a nice dinner for you, and they’ll celebrate that you're home.”

Now, Treech didn’t know if that was true at all. He didn’t know what your family life was like. For all he knew, he was saying what he wanted when he possibly got home. He wanted a celebration for his victory, though it’s rarely ever a victory.

There was only one victor from Seven he knew of, and it wasn’t pretty. A seventeen-year-old girl came back to the District a victor but only stayed for four months before she died. She had several of those… fear filled moment when she smelt something she couldn’t stand anymore. And it didn’t take her too long to no longer take it.

No one knew about the other Districts, if they had something similar with their victors. It was mostly a prayer that neither of you would succumb to something similar that girl did. Only a little bit of hope would help you both.

“You’ll live long. You’ll get a nice job and a house, maybe a pet or two,” Treech continued, the hand that wasn’t petting your face held onto your shoulder that raised with every hiccup. “And you’ll be happy.”

You kept your eyes closed as you drifted your head to his chest again, listening to the quiet beat of his heart, caged behind the soft fabric of his shirt and coat. The muscles in your legs eventually loosened, causing your knees to move away from your chest.

“You want that too?” You ask, looking up at his jaw since you would have to pull away to look him in the eye, which you didn’t wish for. “You want to go home to a victory dinner.”

Treech nodded without a second thought. “Better than starving in the arena,” he says with a slight smile. You hum in agreement. A good meal would always be better than this, for you and him.

“I want you to go home with me,” you state suddenly, changing the direction of the conversation. Your fingers go to one of his dark coat buttons, tracing the small details pressed into the silver.

Treech paused for a second. He knew it wasn’t possible, there was only one victor. But he’d be willing to give it up to you. “Yeah, I want that too…,” he trailed off, continuing to rub your cheek and cheek bone with his fingers. “I want you to go to sleep soon. It’s not good if you run into the arena tired.”

You nodded tiredly, allowing yourself some peace, just enough to sleep. Your breathing slowed and your grasp on his shirt loosened, and finally, you were out. Treech waited a minute more to continue rubbing your cheek before he decided it was good enough for him to sleep too.

Treech reached up to his hat and set it in the beige hay under the both of you and gently laid you next to him. Your sleeping body was still in his arms, your back against his chest. His dirtied fingers drawing up to your cheek bone then down to your chin one more time before his brown eyes were closed. Within a couple seconds, he followed in pursuit of sleep.

♡♡♡

The train eventually came to a stop, making a loud screech on the rusting rails. You slowly opened your eyes, blinking several times to get the sleepiness to go away. Treech’s arms were still wrapped tightly around you, finding comfort in your figure. The soreness of sleeping on the wood floor has affected you too, causing a groan to leave your lips once you sit up. Wovey and Bobbin hadn’t stirred from their slumber, their bodies only shifting slightly as the sudden lack of movement from the train.

You trail your eyes to the metal rods holding up the corners of the cattle car but are temporarily blinded by the light of the opened doors. You stiffened at the white light that shined in, turning away to cover your eyes.

“Come on, move out!” A man’s rough voice yelled at the four tributes inside. Bobbin and Wovey woke up almost immediately from the suddenness, a bit of fear in their sleep filled eyes.

“Treech, wake up!” You shake your district partner with haste. Which drew him to life with the help of the light. He groaned with sleepy irritation and looked up at you.

“Hm?” He whined and glanced around the train car, eventually falling on the armed peacekeepers. At the sight, Treech sat up quickly. It was almost like instinct, standing from the hay like he had been caught with something bad. Which of course wasn’t true, but he wasn’t going to act like it didn’t scare up.

“Come on,” you whispered to him, pushing him in the direction of the open doors. He obliged.

Treech quickly jumped down from the cattle car and onto the station platform. He turned back and reached up for your arms, hoping to help you down. You got onto your knees and leaned down until your arms were around his shoulders. Taking several steps back, he lowered you until your shoes made a soft tap to the platform flooring.

Turning your attention back to the other tributes, you and Treech silently followed them toward the chosen truck -or rather prison- for the tributes, staying close to each other as you went along.

The detailing of the train station drew your attention, the details of the clock over the ticket master’s office was beautiful. The best District train station wouldn’t even compare to the Capital’s worst. And that was a fact.

“Step up!” The peacekeeper hollered at you, drawing you away from the thought of the train station. You followed Treech into the truck, holding his hand as you climbed into the dark metal that would bring you to your tombs.

The calls of the peacekeepers grew loud and quick as Bobbin tried climbing over a nearby dumpster onto the roof of, what seemed to be, a shed. And the opportunity was taken by a Capital citizen in red.

The blonde boy ran into the truck, going all the way to the back to hide amongst the tributes. It must have worked since the peacekeepers pushed Bobbin back in to sit with Wovey and slammed the metal doors shut.

The truck started with a low rumble, the children inside swaying slightly from the suddenness as it slowly leaves the train station. 

The van was eerily quiet, nearly all the tributes staring at -who you now known as- Coriolanus. Their eyes drilled holes into him as he turned to them. You couldn't help but stare too, wondering why he was in the van in the first place. It was obvious he shouldn't have been with you all, he was too well dressed.

Treech stared at him with a disgusted look, looking him up and down. The vibrancy of his red outfit gave him away. No one in Seven, hell, any of the districts, wore a red that vibrant. Not many could afford such a vibrant dye. The closest anyone of the tributes had to a vibrant dye was Lucy Gray, but even the ruffles of her skirt were too faded to have been made lavishly. 

“What’s the matter, pretty boy? You're in the wrong cage?” Reaper remarked and gazed at the boy. The blonde boy looked around anxiously at the tributes and then shook his head.

Your attention was turned back to Reaper, who seemed to stand over the other tributes like a statue, larger than life with his attitude toward the random boy who intruded on their cage.

“No, this cage is delightful,” Coriolanus said back, looking around at the tributes who gazed at him.

The other tributes grimace at his lacklustre answer, constantly giving Coriolanus dirty looks. You stare at him too, wondering how he could have gotten in without getting caught. The red was too bright to not have gotten caught. The closest color that was as vibrant as the mentor’s coat was Reaper’s blue dress shirt, which was far behind in dye.

His words seemed to annoy Reaper as the boy was quick to grab Coriolanus, pushing him against the wall violently. Reaper held tightly onto his blue collar, pulling Coriolanus closer but holding him with an iron fist.

"I will kill you right now." Reaper threatened harshly, giving Coriolanus an angered look. The blonde didn’t try pushing him away, not trying to get his ass kicked before he could possibly find safety, or at least get the opportunity to run.

The other tributes leaned closer to try and witness the murder, hoping it was a little gruesome for them to get some satisfaction for their later deaths. At least it would be a death they would root for.

"There's no point in killing him," Lucy Gray pitched suddenly, drawing the attention of both Reaper and Coriolanus, looking up at the boys. "They'd kill you then your family."

"You care about him?" Reaper asked and looked over at her, a slight scowl on his face at the idea that he couldn’t kill Coriolanus. Lucy Gray stared at her mentor before nodding.

"He's my mentor, I'd prefer keeping him alive," Lucy Gray answered, smiling slightly at her own remark. A ginger haired girl glanced at Coriolanus then at Lucy Gray, looking her over, and bending down to the tributes level.

“Why do you get a mentor? You’re more special than the rest of us?” Coral asked in a condescending tone, giving Lucy Gray a dirty look.

“You all get one,” Coriolanus piped up, gazing at Coral, who stared back but gave him an annoyed look.

“Why aren’t they here?” Coral remarked and raised her brow.

“Just aren’t as kind,” Coriolanus answered and grunted from being pushed back against the wall by Reaper, firmer this time.

You watched silently, leaning forward to watch the event, wondering if Reaper would kill the Capital Boy. You lean forward, your lower stomach meets the upper parts of your thigh from leaning so far. Treech suddenly places his palm against your chest, lightly pushing you back against the truck wall. You didn’t try going against it but were slightly disappointed at his action. You wanted to watch as much as any other tribute.

Suddenly, the truck came to a stop, causing everyone inside to pause and look around. Wovey stood up from the bench and looked out the tinted window near the roof. She didn’t get much info for what was out there though.

A loud beeping sound followed as the doors opened widely as it suddenly tipped back. Your eyes widen as you hold onto your seat, which wasn’t helpful as you felt Bobbin fall onto your side, making you lose your grip. Treech was able to grab your arm as you and the rest of the tributes fell.

The terrain below the truck was an unforgiving rocky hill, almost as if the rocks sharpest points were towards the now falling district children. The sounds of rolling pebbles and cries from the tributes intermingled with the shrill calls of others, which you couldn’t put a figure to as you rolled down the hill. The sharp bits of rock poked into your back and ribs, causing you to writhe in a way to get away from the points, which didn’t do much but cause other areas to be jabbed.

Your body was tense as you quickly slowed as hastily as you started, groans leaving your lips. The area had changed from the rocky hill to soft green grass, which eased the growing newly found bruises. You stayed still for several seconds, simply listening to the pained moans of the other tributes and the calls of what you now knew as Capital citizens.

You turned your head to look over at the crowd behind the bars surrounding you, many of which were well dressed men, women, and children. It almost gave them away as Capital, their vibrantly dyed outfits. The blues, greens, and reds are too bright to say ‘district’. And they wouldn’t be excited to see their fellow man in cages if they were truly District.

But it didn’t matter now. You eventually sat up dusting your clothes of the sand that covered the stones and looked around, your mind trailing to Treech.

"Treech? Are you alright?" You groaned and looked around, hoping to find the boy nearby. Your call was answered with a whine of pain just behind a rock. You stood from the grass and quickly walked over to the sound of the familiar voice.

"I'm fine," Treech replied while slowly sitting up. He winced as he leaned over and grabbed his hat. You bent down and helped him to his feet, staring as he looked around the cage surrounded by people with kids and cameras.

“We’re in a zoo,” you mumble and look at the large camera that a man held, pointing it at the tributes. You hesitated to look away. Cameras were never truly fond memories, no one could afford them in the Districts and you could only ever see them used with the reaping's. The kids of past reaping's must have felt the same about the cameras.

“Yeah, I got that,” Treech remarked and sighed.

You nodded and sigh too, tightening your grasp on his hand. Treech pulled you closer, just close enough to whisper something in your ear. “Just make sure to-,” as Treech was about to finish his sentence, your name was called.

“(Y/n)!” A boy in a similar red to Coriolanus called your name, motioning for you to come closer.

You look from the boy calling to you to Treech, expecting him to finish his sentence, which he didn’t do. “I can talk to you again when you finish talking to him,” he simply states and pushes you in the boy's direction.

♡♡♡

The day had moved slowly, now the stars hung over the sky, the silver glow of the stars and nearby streetlamps contrasted greatly with the gold of the sun’s rays. The masses of people had gone home, now only being guarded by peacekeepers, who were reluctantly keeping their eyes open in case a tribute tried escaping.

Treech had gone off to juggle acorns for the camera, which had been rewarded with some bread. It wasn’t much but it was better than just the dust on his fingers. The bread had been split between you both while conversing about what your mentor had told you.

“His name is Pup Harrington,” you smiled and tore the brown bread between your fingers, popping smaller pieces into your mouth. Treech smiled slightly and did something similar. He raised his brow.

“Your mentor?” Treech asked, which you answered with a nod.

“Yeah,” you said through a mouthful of bread bits. “He just wanted to introduce that he was my mentor, and we needed a plan for the Games. I didn’t say too much so he did most of the talking anyway. Must’ve taken English seriously.”

Treech smiled and finished the little bit of bread he had left, licking his fingertips of the leftover crumbs off with hesitance. Moreso felt desperate, which was true but didn’t want that viewed from the Capital eye.

Once you both finish your small meal, you lie down in the grass, looking up at the stars that stared down at you. The other tributes had gone to bed or were keeping themselves occupied with miniscule tasks, like dusting off their clothes. Treech’s hands lay folded on his stomach, his hat sat near his head. You laid in a similar way, your hand close to his side, his coat to be specific.

"I wanted to thank you for being so nice to me," you mutter, finally breaking the silence. The grass was soft under your body, the yellowing dandelions around you making your natural bed seem fancier.

"You don't have to thank me," Treech assured you, watching mindlessly as you moved to hold his hands. You pulled his intertwined fingers from each other and took them into yours, squeezing gently. He kept his hand limp.

"And you didn't need to take care of me," you state with a small smile. Your mind raced with ideas, something similar to a gift. A gift you could give him, though you didn’t have much you could give him. "I can repay you in a specific way... if you'd want me to."

Treech smiled and let out a little breath, meant to be a small chuckle. Though, you could see the blush rise in his cheeks. "How would you repay me? You don't have much I could want," he remarked, giving you a specific look, one of wonder. It was obvious he wanted an answer quickly.

You hesitated at his question; you were partially expecting him to give you the idea for your gift. But he had nothing to offer and neither did you, materially, at least. You had nothing to offer but yourself.

"A kiss," you suggest hesitantly, as though the idea of kissing him wasn't something that made you nervous. You couldn’t deny that he was attractive, you would have told him sooner if your nerves didn’t get the best of you. Or if you weren’t sobbing since the reaping.

Treech paused for several seconds, the blush brightening on his face (which you didn’t know was possible), even with the dirt smudged on his cheeks. He looked away, trying to gain the confidence he had before your offer, which he doubted he could get back.

Your face grew warm too, realizing how it must have felt to have that told to you. Your hands wipe your cheeks slowly, followed with a sigh. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I was just suggesting,” you mutter and look back up at the stars. The silver spots stared down at you and Treech, just as eagerly waiting for his answer as you.

Treech pressed his lips into a line and tried breathing slowly, conjuring up some confidence to at least get to kiss your soft lips. He took in a final breath, nodding his head. “I’ll take it,” he said, finally making eye contact with you, though his blush brightened.

You raised your brow and nodded. “Just know I’m not too experienced with kissing, I don’t usually go around practicing kissing with others,” you muse and gradually place your hand on his cheek.

Treech stared at you and nodded slowly, a smile gradually crossing his face. He stayed silent for several moments before realizing you spoke. “Neither am I,” he mumbled, looking from your lips to your eyes. “I don’t mind.”

You smiled back at him, trying to gain the courage to kiss him. Your lack of experience made you nervous but knowing Treech was just as experienced helped slightly. You swallowed thickly as you leaned closer and hesitantly pressed your lips to his.

Treech eagerly held your hand, tightening his grasp as he tried leaning closer, though you thought it was impossible. Your chests pressed together as you kissed him softly, not growing in intensity since you both didn’t know how. But you didn’t pull away and neither did Treech.

Your hands were placed on his upper back and neck, keeping him closer as he gradually got closer. Treech breathed heavily through his nose, though the intensity wasn’t much, it was still so much for him. It was likely used for comfort, just as much as it was for you. The softness of his lips brought a softer feeling in your chest.

Eventually, you pulled away from each other, your soft breath was felt on his lips, which were only an inch or two away from yours. It was obviously a disappointment for Treech since he hastily grew fond of the affection and instinctively leaned closer to get another from you. It was only met with gentle rejection from your end, putting your hand on his shoulder to interject with his idea.

You both laid in silence, but a nice one. Treech lazily brought his head to your chest, laying down onto you. Now the roles were reversed. He laid in your arms for comfort, mainly just because he needed to wait to no longer be lightheaded. The silver stars looked down at you now with Treech in your arms, who held your hand gently. It was doubtful that the redness of his cheeks would ever leave, especially now after the kiss.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

I'm so sorry it took so long to get back to you, I have been really busy, but I finally got to completing this!!!

My tbosas masterlist

#ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #thg prequel #tbosas x reader #treech thg #treech tbosas #treech x fem!reader #treech x reader #x reader #x fem reader #x female reader #treech x female reader #tbosas headcanons #tbosas fanfic #tbosas movie #fem reader #female reader #x you #x f reader #f reader #x female y/n #thg x female reader #thg x reader #x fem!reader #romantic x reader #romantic fanfic #romantic hurt comfort #treech fanfiction

[moreespressoformydepresso]

Time Loop AU for TBOSAS that snowballs into a Fix-It! And the person stuck in the time loop is Pliny “Pup” Harrington!

Now, this time loop isn’t one day. It’s not a few hours. It is the moment the tributes were dumped in the zoo to the moment the games end. Pup goes to bed after the victor is sent home and wakes up the day the tributes arrive. As we all know Pup started to care for Lamina and he was upset when she died. So of course he decides to try everything to have her win. Again and again and again he fails to save her, and he hates that the Capitol is allowing this, but he doesn’t yet understand the truth of the games. Because he’s still Capitol, and he doesn’t get it until the second to last loop.

This entire time he’s been obsessed with getting Lamina to survive, in any way he can. Giving her advice and sending drones at times she died the last time so she’ll survive just a bit longer. When his meddling causes Lamina to let Treech win on several occasions, he starts hating the boy from seven for “causing” her death. It doesn’t occur to him that what caused her death was completely out of the tributes’ control. It was the Capitol. And Lamina doesn’t want Treech to die, no matter how hard Pup tries to push them apart. When it becomes clear that approach causes Lamina to die faster he stops. And finally, after hundreds of loops, he succeeds! Sure, Lamina was upset about having to watch Treech die right in front of her, but she’s alive. She’ll get over it. All that matters is that she won! Except…

When he goes to see her, Lamina is sobbing harder than ever before. She’s inconsolable with grief and trauma. When Pup tries to comfort her, his words just seem to make it worse, until a comment about Treech makes her snap as she yells for the first time since he’s known her. She screams about how he’s heartless, how unbelievably cruel he is for even suggesting that his death is something to just “get over”. How he’s just like all the other capitol folks, only caring when it’s convenient for them. The other tributes were kids too, with families to return to just like her.

“How am I supposed to face my district knowing I let him die in there?!”

And then it clicks. As he goes home, told to go away and never come back to the girl he worked so hard to save, he finally understands. Pup was so focused on getting her out, he didn’t consider her life after the games. She’d told him her and Treech were close, and he’d seen it with his own eyes, but only now does Pup understand that Lamina couldn’t have a happy ending. Even when she survived, she’d be miserable, because Treech hadn’t. And when he thinks back to the times Treech won, he sees that it’s vice versa. He was a wreck just like Lamina. There is no winning for the tributes.

When he wakes up to the news the trains will be arriving that day, he knows how to break the loop. Pup wants Lamina to be happy, and the only way to do that is to get rid of the games entirely. So that’s what he does. His dad’s an important military figure and after a few tries he convinces him to help. One coup and a sad Felix later, the president officially cancels the games. And when Pup sees Lamina and Treech clinging to each other, as she tears up with happiness for the first time, he knows he did the right thing.

#it doesn’t take long for the rest of the capitol to follow suit #because Pup isn’t done meddling #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #the hunger games #10th hunger games #hunger games #fix it au #pup harrington #pliny harrington #lamina deserved better #so she gets better #tbosas lamina #thg lamina #lamina #lamina thg #lamina tbosas #treech x lamina #lamina x treech #possibly #it’s up for interpretation but I know my audience #tbosas treech #treech #treech fanfiction #treech thg #treech tbosas

[placuszek]

fuck it. there's not enough treech fanfictions. i'm writing one myself.

#tbosas #ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #treech tbosas #treech fanfiction #tbosas fanfiction #im desperate #i love side characters

[laminasnumber1fan]

skit from my treemina fic <3

you know what terrifies me? like, out of my skin?” I say sheepishly.

“what?” he replies.

“the games.” I say with a serious and sad look on my face.

“I think they’re exciting. I wouldn’t volunteer, but…” he trails off.

“But you wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone?”

“It’s the hunger games, you’re meant to.” He tells me.

“It’s not that simple. It costs your dignity and everything you are.” I tell him, frowning at the fact that he doesn’t see a problem with killing other kids.

“Well, if it’s for my life I’d do it.” he tells me.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

The kind boy who defended me in class and has been climbing trees with me since is really telling me he’d kill other kids.

“Would you kill me?”

I ask him, because if it really came down to it - would he kill me to protect himself? He’s my best friend but as much as I hate it I wouldn’t be surprised if his answer is actually yes.

“You know damn well I could never in a million years do that. It’d kill me just as much if not more.”

treemina :(

#treemina #treech #treech x lamina #treech fanfiction #lamina my baby #lamina tbosas

[itsbuckytm]

Capital’s lovebirds was so good, please continue to write for him! Barely anyone writes for him 😔 Truly your writing was amazing.

Thank you so much. 🥺 Seeing so much positivity makes me so happy! Treech is such an interesting character and love District 7 soo much. I will definitely be writing for him more and Reaper Ash as well!

Much Love

XOXO

O’ 🎀

#thank you #thank you so much #ask box #tbosas #treech fanfiction #treech #treech imaginess #treech x reader #coriolanus snow imagiens #hunger games x you #the hunger games #the hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games x y/n #x reader #imagines #imagines request

[bimb0fy]

thinking about your mentor treech fics

what about a victor treech and a capitol mentor reader

another victim of the capitol; treech

ᵖᵃⁱʳⁱⁿᵍˢ; victor!treech x mentor!reader

ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ; angst, kinda short mb.

ˢᵘᵐᵐᵃʳʸ; the moment treech won, he felt different, he knew he didn't deserve to live. he did the unspeakable, kill the innocent. yet to you, he was also a victim.

ʷᵒʳᵈᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ; 534 words

ᵐᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡⁱˢᵗ!! | ⁿᵃᵛⁱᵍᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ!!

-> Treech helplessly sat down in the infirmary, his gaze glued to his hands as he watched the shaky hands no longer covered with the gruesome coat of red that once filled his hands. Yet, no matter how hard he scrubbed he couldn't clean the guilt.

You stood by his side as the nurse left. A few cuts and bruises. He needs to stay monitored for a few days since the snake venom affected his system.

"It's not your fault." You mumbled as the boy looked at you then turned back to his hands, his ripped hat at the foot of the bed. He turned to face it, holding it as he analyzed the rips. One across the hem and one through the top.

"My hat." Treech cried as you cradled his side, salty tears slipped through as he held the hat. Usually, you wouldn't understand how someone would cry over an object like this yet the hat was a gift from Lamina, the moment she died part of him did too.

"I'll fix it." You smiled as you took it, opening the drawer to find a needle and gray thread. You sewed it together as Treech stared at his hands once more, you placed the hat gently on the table before holding his hands.

He looked at you as he cried. You shook your head, wiping his tears before placing your hand on his cheek. "You're not a monster or a murderer. You're a victim just like them." You whispered.

You wanted to tell him how you actually felt. How you felt as if they had gotten out the easy way, how they wouldn't have to live with the guilt like him and it made you sick to your stomach.

"Teslee, I. She didn't. I." He broke down as you hugged him. You knew what he was refering to. When he had entered the

"Teslee didn't hesitate like you." You whispered. He turned to face you, shaking his head.

"We didn't want to hurt each other." Treech sobbed as you held him closer, playing with his fingers. "We uhm. Reaper apologised to us before the games and Wovey made us bracelets, the peacekeepers took them before we could wear them though. Lucy sang us songs and we all wanted to go home."

"I know Treech." You frowned as he hid himself into your chest. "Well, you're here now, with me."

"I'm a murderer, y/n, I'm a killer." Treech muttered as you shook your head, wiping his tears.

"No your not, not to me." You mumbled. You watched as he leaned in, hesitant to kiss you as you smiled.

You leaned in, placing your soft lips onto his cold ones, yet the moment you did they warmed up. He held your hand as you moved to sit on the bed, his hand, his hard hand that held your soft one, sliding to your waist as his other grabbed your hair.

You pulled back, yet he pulled you in for another kiss as you placed your hand onto his cheek. After what felt of an eternity of love, he pulled back to breath.

"Thank you, for saving me."

"No Treech, thank you, for saving me."

#fanfic #x reader #treech fanfiction #treech x reader #treech tbosas #treech thg #treech x you #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfic

[snowfll]

took a break on here to focus on my wattpad fic, but i missed writing on here! send in requests so i can get back to writing!

also why not add a lil edit for my treech fic on wattpad :)

@ snowfll on wattpad

📖 - i bet on losing dogs.

💌- treech

👤- vienna hawthorne

🎬- the ballad of songbirds and snakes

#tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #treech #the hunger games #treech x reader #treech fanfiction #treech tbosas #i love treech #lumberjack boy #district seven #mentor x treech #wattpad fic #requests open

[bumblebugwrites]

chapter 1: nothing's new

Pairing: Victor!Treech x fem!Reader

Summary: After nearly two years of peace, you are called back to the Capitol only to find that the future they promised you was a lie.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Cursing, Suggestive Themes, Use of Weapons, Mention of Injuries, Minor Character Death.

Word Count: 6.5k

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Coriolanus Snow is many things, he thinks to himself, but incompetent is not one of them. So there had been the Lucy Gray hiccup. Helping her cheat the Games only for her to die at the hands of Dr. Gaul’s snakes after he failed to slip the handkerchief into their tank was inconvenient, to say the least. As was his brief stint as a Peacekeeper as punishment for his dishonest tactics following the discovery of a certain compact with her remains. Still, he had learned a valuable lesson. Love is no more than a disadvantage, a distraction lodging itself like an unfortunate bump in his flawless plan. And now, he is back, having traded Sejanus’s life for his own advancement. It was nothing personal, really. Personal is a luxury, the only one he can not afford.

Sure, the loss had hurt, but the District 7 boy made a fine victor and one he could control with a far greater degree of ease, given the detachment he felt in regard to the kid’s safety. New year, new him, new Games, and this time, things would be different. 

His proposals had gone through without much struggle, especially with Dr. Gaul practically eating out of the palm of his hand. He is the protege; his mentor is the kind of woman you do not cross without bearing the consequences. 

And so, on this fine morning, as he stands with the casual grace of a cat, elegantly perched on the corner of his desk, he can’t fight the grin that spreads across his face as he delivers the order he’s been waiting for weeks to give.

“Well? Go get them.”

It is a cold day in District 10, at least colder than most you think as you finish your daily sweep of the ranch and its expansive territory. You pull back lightly on the reins, bringing the horse to a slow stop.

“To name an animal, any animal, it’s counterproductive. Selfish even. Makes for a more difficult slaughter; always best to remain detached.” Your father’s words echo in your head as you dip your neck to whisper soft praise to the creature below, her hind branded with a string of three numbers: 039. Her label, to call it a name, would be to demean anyone granted the privilege of such a thing.

“That was good Bluebell, nice easy ride. Told you it would get better.” She is young. Young enough to spook with a fair amount of ease, but then so are you. Had been ever since your Games.

You dismount, hitting the ground with a soft thud before coming around to face the gentle giant and fishing a handful of sugar cubes out of your pocket. She nuzzles the food in your palm before beginning to eat, and you run a hand up and down the bridge of her nose. The world is quiet, dew still catching the light of the rising sun when you see it in the distance: the armored vehicle speeding towards the cabin housing the front office. It is not unusual for Peacekeepers to come and go from the building, but the night shift typically does not end until 8:00 am, and dawn’s colors still paint the lower half of the sky. Something is wrong.

Two men exit the vehicle, entering the small building before quickly reappearing at its entrance, a third companion in tow. He stands on the porch for one beat, two, a lazy hand draped over his eyes as he scans the field for something. Someone. And then he points. You. They are looking for you.

Your heart leaps into your throat, and your body screams at you to mount once more and ride as fast and as far away as you can, but you stay rooted. Frozen. You watch, helplessly still, as the car only comes closer, pulling to a stop on the other side of the fence, keeping the pastures separated from the open road. The Peacekeeper in the passenger seat steps out, boots scraping the gravel.

“Ms. L/N?” You only nod.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us; you’ve been called to the Capitol.” You feel like screaming, but your throat constricts, and all you can do is take slow, encumbered breaths as your body caves in on itself and you crumple to the ground.

“I– What?”

You do not mind the mud on your knees, and the slow chill that begins to spread from the places dampened by the wet grass is barely perceptible in your state of shock. Called to the Capitol. Your mind jumps back home, your brother and sister still tucked away, blankets to their chins. They would not rise for another thirty minutes at least. You picture your mother. Savoring a final moment of quiet in her busy day, sipping the coffee you’d left in the pot just for her. Your mind replays the goodbyes you had paid them this morning. Careless and quick, not like the day of the reaping. Just sloppy kisses pressed haphazardly to their foreheads and a gentle farewell on your way out the door.

“That’s not possible– It’s not– I haven’t…” There is an eerie stillness to the world at this time of day. One that only seems to press inwards, suffocating you. Distantly, you feel the soft pressure of Bluebell’s muzzle on your shoulder as though urging you to get up

Though the man in the driver’s seat seems annoyed by the inconvenience, his partner fails to shield the look of pity that flits across his face as he dips to pass through the fence, pulling you up and then back through the gap with him. He is not rough as he sets you in the backseat, not like the Peacekeepers you remember from your Games, or maybe he is; everything seems a blur as the car makes its way to the train station, and it is only as the compartment doors to close behind you that you think of Bluebell, left out in the pasture, probably licking fallen sugar cubes off the ground.

Treech releases a labored exhale as he tries once more to readjust his grip on the axe. It’s just a tree. He can sense the nearby Peacekeeper shuffling from foot to foot, anxious for him to get on with the process. This is not the arena. I am safe. I am home.

There is no time off granted to returning victors following their stint in the Games. Production is production, and there are quotas to be met, so Treech had arrived home, and the following morning, before the sun had kissed the hilltops with its light, he had risen to go to work. Only work didn’t come easy the way it used to, lulling him into a rhythmic sense of comfort with its repetitive motions, and each time he raised his axe, all he saw was them. The other tributes waiting to receive the killing blow.

Treech wipes the sweat from his brow in a single frustrated motion in spite of the cold, then, squaring his jaw, he takes a swing. Crunch. The axe lodges itself in Teslee’s head, and he stumbles back, eyes wide with fear. Only it is not Teslee. No. He blinks once, twice, and it is only a pine tree, and he is back in the forest, sinking under the weight of the Peacekeeper’s heavy glare. The man, stationed less than a yard away, begins to move towards him, and Treech prepares himself for another beating, the sharp threats from the last time still ringing in his ears.

“Officer,” a voice calls out in their direction as another man of higher rank, from what Treech can gauge, approaches the pair. The two men meet and begin to speak in hushed voices, eyes flitting in his direction every few sentences. They’re gonna fire me. Or worse, string me up in the square and use me as an example. His grip on the axe tightens. His axe. His father’s before him. He will not go down without a fight.

“Hey, you,” Treech keeps his eyes on the forest floor, silently praying to any higher power that will listen that he is not the you in question. 

“Hey! Hey, you!” He can hear the man approaching, but the sound of his footsteps is dulled by the pounding of Treech’s heart. He feels like a child in a bathtub, head halfway under the surface as the water beats at his eardrums, completely still and as loud as a tidal wave. A firm grasp settles around the fabric of his winter coat, far too thin for the cold but the best he can afford.

“Listen to me when I’m fucking speaking to you,” the Peacekeeper spits, and Treech’s mouth settles into a hard line, his hand curled into a tight fist, twitching by his side. The man before him huffs in frustration.

“Call came in from the Capitol; you’re on the next train out,” he moves as though he’s going to release Treech before yanking him back in, close enough to press his mouth to the boy’s ear. 

“You’re lucky the order came from above; if I had a say, I’d gun you down right here for the disrespect.” With that, he gives the kid before him a hard shove before beginning to stalk off.

“Let’s go.” But Treech feels as though the ground beneath him has disappeared. Back to the Capitol? Would they send him into the arena? He was done. Won his Games fair and square. He was supposed to be free. What more could they want?

The first thing you notice about the train is that it is the nicest thing you have ever set foot inside of. During your Games, and all those before and after, transport to the Capitol had been relegated to old cattle cars used to shuttle livestock across Panem, and the same had been true on your return trip. This is different. Every inch of the compartment is decorated with the lavish and ornate, all-cushioned seats and elaborate chandeliers.

The second thing you notice is the boy. He is older than you, you think, by several years. Five, maybe six. He seems out of place, tucked into the corner of one of the booths, sizing you up suspiciously. He looks familiar.

“I– Do I know you?”

“We’ve never met before,” he responds, cold and guarded. But there is something about him, his build, tall and broad, dark skin and brown eyes; you could almost imagine them looking soft and kind in a different environment. 

He keeps the sharp look on his face, and you have yet to move from the doors when it clicks.

“You won seven years ago; I remember you. District 11. Teff, right?”

“You’re the girl from 10,” he says, and his posture relaxes, if only by a fraction.

“Y/N.” You smile, and you mean it to be a comfort, but there’s a fear in your eyes that betrays the anxiety deep in your gut. Still, you move closer, sliding into the seat across from him and bringing your hands into a neat pile on your lap.

“What are we doing here?” It’s small and whispered as it escapes your lips, and your gaze refuses to meet Teff’s as you wait for an answer.

“I have no idea.”

It is several hours before the train stops again, and though they are mostly passed in silence, the occasional attempt is made at small talk. Whispered theories mingle among everyday questions. So, what do you do in District 11? Do you think they’re gonna kill us? There’s lots of horses back home, cows too. They can’t put us back in, right? Only once, that’s what they said. 

The next time the doors open, you are in 2, as indicated by the towering stone walls keeping it separate from neighboring Districts. Three people get on. One of the boys you recognize immediately: Octavian Blackwell, the first victor. His hair is dark, clipped short in a sort of military cut, and his eyes look as though they are carved from steel. Beside him is a girl, small and lithe, her posture relaxed and tense all at once. Antonia. The name echos out from some dark, cavernous corner of your mind. The first female victor, 3rd Hunger Games. The final boy is taller than both his counterparts, though leaner in build than Octavian; you wrack your brain, praying for some form of recollection, but he remains unfamiliar to you.

“More victors,” whispers Teff, and you watch as the three faces before you seem to come to the same realization.

“What the fuck is going on?” It’s the District 2 boy who breaks the silence, the one whose name continues to elude you. 

“Hector,” Antonia hisses, a warning lacing her tone, but her eyes betray a curiosity lingering beneath the surface. 

“They can’t put us back in, right? There’s not enough. Not to mention, half the districts wouldn’t even have tributes,” you sputter the words up, an involuntary torrent of concern spewing from your mouth. Your gaze flits nervously from face to face, and in spite of the many hardened exteriors, you can feel it beneath the surface, a brewing apprehension. Octavian breaks the silence.

“They won’t put us back in.” And he seems certain. He is old, you think. Not old in the way a grandparent is, but aged certainly. You had never taken the time to imagine a tribute outside childhood, escaping adolescence into fully formed adulthood, but here was Octavian, who must have been at least twenty-six, with several deep-set wrinkles beginning to mar his brow.

“Probably just rounding us all up to kill us, send a real message after those shitshow Games last year,” Hector grumbles, moving further into the compartment and thrusting himself into the booth across from you and Teff. “Just watch; I bet we’ll hit 4 next, then 7, and 1.”

The noise of uncomfortable shuffling seems to fill the compartment, and eventually, Octavian and Antonia settle into the booth beside Hector. You can’t help but allow the shell of a laugh to brush past your lips. A whole train car for the lot of you, and here you were, pressed into the two corner booths. Sure, the cage is bigger, but you still cower like animals. Like you’re back in those trucks ushering you from the train to the arena, gleaning a last moment of comfort as you brushed shoulders with the children you would watch die.

Hector was right. The train stopped at 4, though only one boy got on. Trawl, he’d won the 8th Games, just before yours. You remember distantly hearing of another victor from 4, a boy who was killed upon return. Murdered by the father of his district partner, who accused him of killing her. Stabbed him in the town square, they said. The Peacekeepers only watched.

The train grinds once more to a halt in 7, and quick glance outside the window reveals a station made entirely of wood, grand posts carved with ornate designs supporting the massive roof. You glance towards the door, waiting for him, the newest victor. You do not have to work hard to recall his name, Treech; the two syllables had echoed from every radio in your mother's house the day the 10th Games ended.

The doors open with a hiss, and he stumbles in as though pushed, a mop of curls obscuring his eyes. He seems dazed. As he lifts his head, you watch it happen. The same realization that had dawned on every victor to enter the compartment after you, but then his gaze only grows dull as though accepting some secret fate you had yet to be alerted of before he shuffles forward, taking a seat on a longer bench facing the door. Alone. 

It is several more hours before you reach 1, and although some hushed conversation continues to fill the train car, you sit in silence, casting worried glances at the quiet boy with his head in his hands. He is not crying, you think; his shoulders are too still, but his breathing remains too rapid to indicate sleep. Maybe he just likes to listen, you suppose, trying to grasp the newest direction of the chatter around you. Maybe he’s scared. As you turn once more to analyze his hunched shape, Trawl catches your line of sight, speaking up from beside you.

“Just leave him alone; if he wants to sit by himself sulking, that’s his problem,” he mutters close to your ear.

“For all we know, we could be walking into an ambush. Give him a break,” you say, moving to stand before making your way over to the place on the bench beside him. You are quiet for a time, unsure how to start, but as your lips begin to purse around a greeting, he interrupts you.

“I like your hat.” His voice is flat, a single eye visible from behind the curtain of his hair. You forgot you were wearing a hat. It was your father’s from his brief time on the ranch before transferring to the slaughterhouse, where he met your mom. Your hand darts up to trace the brim.

“Thanks, it was–” But then his tone registers, and you recognize the snark behind the compliment, “You don’t mean that, do you?”

“You some sort of cowgirl?”

“How do you know what a cowgirl is?” You ask, and your eyebrows draw together in surprise at the knowledge.

“Read about them in school once, before I dropped out.”

“I guess so. Usually, people just call me a ranch hand.” He lifts his head at this, and you realize he’s quite pretty on closer viewing.

“Doesn’t sound as cool.” The ghost of a smirk lights his face as he says it.

“No, I guess it doesn’t,” you say, grinning back. His smile is quick to fade, and he turns once more, fixing his gaze ahead, away from you.

“Why are we here?” He asks, his cocky demeanor gone in an instant. You ache to be able to provide him with an answer, but the same question has been clawing at you since the two men showed up on the ranch this morning. 

“I– I’m not sure.” He nods, and it is solemn, like a prayer, but he does not return his face to his hands, instead watching the miles of land roll by in a blur, no single thing occupying the space outside the window for longer than a second. You find yourself looking, too, imagining how it must feel to go 250 mph. You decide it's probably like flying.

By the time you reach 1 to collect its two victors, a searing silence has spread over the train, the atmosphere tense. The journey to the Capitol is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and as the skyline appears over the barriers built to keep people like you out, you feel the apprehension shrouding the compartment begin to buzz. It is only then that Hector speaks, shattering the stillness with a single phrase.

“Welcome back to Hell.”

The sun is setting as the train pulls into the station, and you twitch nervously, scraping your nails against the pads of your fingertips. Beside you, Treech watches your movements with a fixed gaze as though pondering reaching out to still the repetitive motions himself. He does not, and you fail to notice his attention on you at all, eyes fixed ahead on the double doors. 

When they open, a swarm of Peacekeepers descends on the car within a matter of seconds, hoisting you from the seats, snatching at arms and shoulders in their attempts to muscle you out of the compartment. A startled yelp escapes your lips as the man with a harsh grasp on the collar of your shirt rips you forward and onto the platform, jostling your hat from your head. 

“No–” You lunge for the single remnant of your father, straining against the Peacekeeper working to wrangle you towards an awaiting vehicle, but it is no use. He wraps you in a firm pair of arms, lifting you, kicking and biting from the ground the remainder of the distance before tossing you onto the floor of the car. As you whip around to assail him once more, the doors fall closed with a thud, leaving you to pound futilely against them.

Eventually, your jabs lose their power, and you sink down, forehead pressed to the cool metal, biting your lip to prevent the oncoming tears from spilling over. A hand makes its presence known on your shoulder as the car begins to move, and you turn to glimpse Trawl, his face painted with concern. A quick once over of the vehicle reveals only half the victors had been loaded on: you, Trawl, and the two tributes from 1, Lux, who sits with both hands clasped primly in her lap, and Beau, whose only visible sign of distress is the repeated preening of his hair.

“My– My hat. It was my dad’s–” you stutter out as Trawl helps you onto the seat beside his, “I don’t– there’s nothing else left.” The concern in his eyes settles into pity, and you feel like shrinking under the weight of his compassion, tired of feeling helpless.

It is not long before the car pulls to a stop, and the doors come open once more. It is dark out now, and you can’t help but find it unusual, the feeling that you are being smuggled, rushed in under the cover of night. Typically everything is a display in the Capitol. If they are going to kill you, where are the cameras? You are ushered into an elevator, and one of the Peacekeepers extends an arm, scanning a card before pressing the button for the top floor. You think distantly this might be some sort of hotel. You have never been inside a hotel before. A simple ding alerts you to the fact that you have reached your destination, and you are jostled out and through the door directly before you following the swipe of another card.

It is a large room. You had always believed hotels came with the promise of a bed, but this seems more like a home: a kitchen with appliances you do not recognize, a luxurious lounge with a semicircular couch facing a large projection, and a man, his hair as white as snow.

“Please, let’s not manhandle our guests,” he calls out to the group of Peacekeepers herding you into the center of the room, and they back away, taking up posts on the surrounding walls. Their message is clear: you are not permitted to leave. 

You reach up to rub at the place where, only moments before, your arm had been kept in an iron grip when the door to the room flings open again, the remainder of the victors stumbling in. Teff comes first, ripping his bicep from the man beside him upon entrance, followed by Hector, Antonia, and Octavian, who seem more contained. Last is Treech, a newly formed bruise beginning to darken the area around his eye, and your father's hat held delicately in his hand, fingers pinched around the rim. He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor but lifts his head upon hearing your stifled gasp. 

“Come, make yourselves comfortable. I don’t bite, I promise.” The man at the front of the room speaks with a placating tone and words meant to dulcify, but he smiles like a wolf. No one moves.

“Let’s try this again. Sit down.” From behind you, you can hear the Peacekeepers beginning to shuffle from their stations, inching forward. Octavian is the first to budge. He takes a tentative step in the direction of the couch before nodding at Antonia and Hector, who follow close behind. You look to Teff and then to Treech, only a few feet away from him, still holding your father’s hat. The former surveys the room once before giving you a slow nod, and you move to sit. They file in behind you, Trawl quick on their heels, and the four of you occupy a single corner of the couch being sure to leave room for Lux and Beau. As he slides into the seat next to yours, Treech tenderly sets the hat atop your lap, and you mouth a subtle thank you that he leaves unacknowledged.

“Much better.” The man before you grins, and out of the corner of your eye, you see a look of recognition pass across Treech’s face.

“So glad you could all join us.” He claps his hands together before clearing his throat to begin.

“Now, I’m sure you’re all wondering what you’re doing here, and I want to assure you that in spite of the worries you expressed on the train, we are not going to kill you.” A chill passes down your spine at his implication: they had been watching you.

“See, you represent a new beginning. The birth of a different kind of Games. A better kind of Games.” A wave of confusion seems to pass over the lot of you. Though it is more like anxiety, and you feel a bit like you are drowning in it.

“Now, last year, well, that was quite the mess,” he says, nodding to Treech as though they are in on some sort of joke together. Your stomach turns. 

“But the important thing is, we learned something: the people of the Capitol need someone to care about. To root for, if you will. Which means it’s time for a new way of thinking.” He pauses as though for dramatic effect, and you can’t help but think his speech feels practiced. Had he smiled this morning, delivering his death knell to the bathroom mirror?

“Right now, the Games, they make people sad, uncomfortable even. Too much humanity, not enough spectacle.” Beside you, Treech tenses. “There is nothing commodifiable about the current structure. But if, say, we were to place a higher value on the victors and make you celebrities of sorts, then this blight becomes an honor.” The nine faces before him appear as though they are sculpted from stone; he clears his throat before continuing.

“And how, you may ask, do we plan to do that? Well, starting this year, the past victors will be in charge of mentoring the children from your districts.” Here, there is some breakage. Anger, plain and simple, seeping through the masks. Antonia begins to speak.

“Fuck no–”

“I’m not finished, thank you. Now, this will come with an array of new challenges. There will, of course, be interviews to prepare them for, something you obviously have no experience with, as well as a tribute parade.” Your nose crinkles in disgust as the sole image your mind conjures is last year’s tributes chained to a flatbed truck, Brandy’s dead body swaying from a crane above them. Brandy, who you knew. Who was only one year younger than you. Who had a talent for soothing any creature with which she came in contact and who cried for three days the first time she killed a hog.

“And you will be in charge of organizing sponsorships once they are in the arena, networking, and such. But not to worry, each of you will be given an escort from the Capitol, someone to help you navigate the trickier aspects of the job. And you will not go unrewarded either. Starting this year, victors will be granted financial compensation as well as eventual housing in a Victor’s Village, which will be put up in each of your home districts. Still, we will need to begin with a sort of reintroduction to teach the public what your new role as a victor is, and–”

“That’s not fair,” you mumble, so quiet you think no one hears.

“Excuse me?” The man’s gaze is icy cold, like a knife to the chest.

“That’s– That’s not fair. What about the kids in 12? 8? 6 and 5? If you do this, the same people will win every year.” You stare back, and when your hands begin to shake, you hide them beneath your thighs.

“I don’t typically give lessons in power for free; you should be grateful.”

“You’re evil.” And it is not a question. You are certain.

“Not evil, just practical.”

“The Capitol hates us, they think we’re scum. They’ll never get behind this,” Treech offers from beside you, and you see it on him, the mark of last year's Games. The toll they took.

“If the citizens of the Capitol think we care, they will too. I’ll put you on television with the goddamned President if I have to. This will work.”

“What if we won’t do it?” Teff demands, his voice low, tinged with a warning.

“You have a family, do you not?” The man asks, and the threat pools in his eyes, but he voices it anyway. “Would you like to continue having a family?” It is quiet for a moment, and the weight of his words feels heavier than anything you’ve ever carried in your life.

“We were supposed to be done. We won our Games,” It is Hector who speaks this time, rising from his seat. He pauses for a moment, then raises his brow as though in a challenge. “Well, I don’t have any family. Not anymore. Not thanks to this bullshit fucking system, so you know what? I think I’ll pass.” From beside him, Antonia claws at his arm, a pleading look in her eyes. It is too late. The man with the white hair nods, and two of the Peacekeepers on the back wall step forward. 

“That’s too bad. He can go.” They are on Hector in a matter of seconds, but they do not make for the door; instead, they seize him, one on each arm, and turn towards the hallway, splitting off from the large central room. Several victors move to stand, with Trawl and Octavian making an attempt to follow, but they are swiftly restrained, and you sit in silent shock as the sounds of Hector’s struggle become distant. A door slams. Then, a gunshot. After that, it is quiet. Your limbs feel stiff, frozen even. From your other side, Lux releases a stifled sob. Somewhere in the distance, you hear Teff throw up.

“Anyone else have any concerns they wish to voice?” It’s as though you have all stopped breathing.

“Wonderful. We’ll begin in the morning. You’ll each have a team here to prepare you for the press tour. Your rooms are numbered by district. Be ready at 5:00 am sharp. I’d hate to have any more incidents.”

“So, we’re trapped here?” You speak again, though the sound of your own voice comes as a shock. The man only sighs.

“This is not a prison, no. Though we would prefer you not leave the premises–” You don’t give him time to finish, making a hasty exit through the door where you came in.

“Just make sure she doesn’t leave the building,” he sighs with a haphazard wave of his hand in your direction.

You are at the bar when Treech finds you, two glasses of Posca deep.

He hadn’t meant to go looking for you, really, only to clear his head and get away from that room. Shortly after your departure, two men had entered with a stretcher and left only minutes later with it full, the vague outline of a body visible beneath a white linen sheet. He had followed them out and then quickly abandoned their company at the prospect of sharing their elevator, instead descending the stairs. From the 32nd floor. And there you were, right as the door to the lobby opened, hat on the bar and your eyes fixed on something he wasn’t sure was really there.

“No hard liquor here. At least not for us,” you huff, slumping in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest. 

“And don’t bother asking for the bottle either. They’ll just give you one of these. Nothing more dignified than drowning my sorrows in a glass that costs more than my mother’s house,” you wave a limp hand at the ornate flute before you, doing little to disguise the biting sarcasm in your tone.

“I’ll take what she’s having,” Treech mutters to the man behind the bar, though he keeps his eyes fixed on the counter, unwilling to bear the weight of the curious gaze being pressed upon the pair of you.

“Do you remember them, the other tributes?” You ask suddenly, as though the thought had been clouding your mind for hours.

“The other victors?” You shake your head.

“No. The other kids in the arena.” Treech freezes for only a moment, caught off guard, but it’s enough time for the truth to plaster itself across his face. Every day.

“Sure.” You don’t say anything, only sit patiently, waiting for him to continue. “There was– There was Lamina; she was from home.” I watched her die. I sat by and did nothing. “And there was Coral and Mizzen; they were from 4. And the youngest. She was from 8. Had these hearts made of buttons on her pants. Wovey, I think. From 12, there was Lucy Gray, the girl who sang. Reaper, he was the last to die. I killed him. Killed the girl from 3, too. Teslee.”

He feels his voice begin to waver and opts to stop talking. You sit in silence for a moment, trading quiet nods with the bartender as he returns with Treech’s drink.

“Rye.”

“Sorry?” Treech asks, still lost in the memories of his fellow tributes.

“He was the youngest. He had these eyes just like my kid brother, big and sad. He just stood there, I remember, when the games started. The boy from 2 killed him; just walked up and broke his neck. Couldn’t have been that hard; he was so small. But he looked so surprised like he hadn’t known it was coming, even after he hit the ground.” Treech thinks he might be sick, and beside him, the color has drained from your face.

“Twenty-four kids every year, and we’ll have front-row seats to all of it. The people in the districts, in the Capitol, they’ll forget, let a name or two slip, but we’ll see them all. Watch them train, see their interviews, pick them apart in hopes of a weakness.” Treech downs his glass in one go before signaling to the bartender he needs a refill. You push your flute in the same direction, looking the District 7 boy up and down as though you’d never given him too much thought before.

“I never envied you. The way the Capitol dragged you through the streets for all those funerals, put you behind bars in a fuckin’ zoo, had you play nice and pleasant before sending you off to slaughter. At least ours was quick. Picked us all up on the train, threw us in the back of a truck, and then dumped us in the arena. Nobody knew who we were. Nobody wanted to.” You break off in a laugh that is brittle and unforgiving.

“Maybe it’ll be better this way. I’m in the market for a new job. Turns out you’re no good at chopping trees when you can barely hold an axe anymore,” Treech jokes, but the smile on his face does not reach his eyes.

“They–” but you are quick to pause, halting mid-sentence as though contemplating continuing. You exhale softly before clearing your throat and lifting your eyes once more to meet his. 

“They had to fire me.” Treech’s brows lurch forward in confusion, creating two dimples in the flesh just above his nose. 

“At the slaughterhouse,” you supply. “They had to fire me. I couldn’t– I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t kill anything. The Peacekeepers, they just wanted me gone. I’m pretty sure they would have just gotten rid of me too, you know, set an example, but I knew the guy who ran the place. I used to give his daughter art lessons. He made a call, and I got transferred. Started working as a ranch hand instead.” You stop, and for a moment, Treech thinks you’ve finished.

“I kept thinking they were him. I would pick up the knife, and suddenly, it was like I was back in the arena, watching him die.” The last part came out in a whisper.

“They say what I did to that kid; they say it was mercy. A mercy kill. But I still killed him, and he’s still dead. And I have never stopped thinking about it.” You clear your throat once more and cast your gaze down, hoping to disguise the tears collecting in your eyes. Treech takes notice. He remembers a conversation not two months prior with his mother. The way his voice shook as he spoke. About the games. About the other tributes. He recalls the twisted expression of discomfort she bore, the pity, and above all, his own anger at feeling helpless. Wounded.

“Art lessons? You paint?” Relief, instant and undisguised, etches itself across your features. 

“Draw, mostly. Charcoal, pencil, anything easy to come by. I was gonna be a veterinarian before– Well, you know. I was practicing for scientific sketches, but I just sort of fell in love with the way they moved– animals.”

“You have a favorite?”

“Horses are the hardest. Cows– they’re soft, like people. Some people, I guess. I saw a fox once, little gray thing, sleeping in the grass. I think maybe I liked that one the best. My mom used to say it was good luck, a fox crossing your path. Though, I can’t imagine how. That– That was the day before my reaping.”

You sit in silence for a moment before Treech speaks again.

“You lived. Maybe that was it: the good luck.”

“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. Like maybe everyone else got out easy, and here we are still living in a nightmare.”

“It won’t be like this forever,” he whispers, but it’s as though he’s pleading with some higher power that it might be true. “It can’t be.”

“Wake up, Treech. This is it for us. They are gonna drag us out here every year to flounce around the capitol, parading new kids to their deaths– or worse, whatever this is, the horrible aftermath–”

“There’ll be new mentors. New winners–”

“Yeah, in 1 and 2 and maybe 4. Don’t you get it? We’re the runt districts. We’ll be lucky if we see another Victor in the next twenty-five years,” Treech swallows hard, willing his mouth to stop tasting so dry; he can feel his heart in the pit of his stomach. “Maybe you ran with the pack in your games, but things are gonna change. Look around. They already are.”

#treech #treech fanfiction #treech thg #treech x reader #treech tbosas #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas #the hunger games #hunger games #district 7 #x reader #thg #no evil angel but love #neabl

[faithisasuperstar]

days spent in the sun → treech

a/n → making coral’s moodboard sent me into a spiral and now i have moodboards for every district 😭 is it worth it to post?

notes → in which nature is the perfect place for treech to show his love for you. feminine intended reader (though not sure pronouns are mentioned)

warnings → not edited & upload via iphone

     your hands were wrapped around treech’s arm as he carefully lifted his axe up to the tree, beginning to carve the shape of a heart. he was prudent in his work, meticulously shaving the bark off of the tree from inside the shape he had formed. you watched him silently, in awe of his handiwork. the result was a perfect heart shaped carving, permanently engraved on the tree. beaming, you pressed a quick peck to the boy’s cheek, then pulled him along with you as you walked atop a tree trunk bridge back to the lake. currently, the two of you were clad only in your undergarments, having gone out with the intention of swimming for the whole day. your clothes were strewn over the branch of a fallen oak, basking in the sun. the water was freezing, a stark contrast to the midsummer heat that lingered in the air. treech held your hand as you stepped in, prepared to catch you if you accidentally slipped. at first, you sunk into the shallow water leisurely, but as the water reached your hips, you let go of treech’s hand, completely submerging yourself in order to get used to the temperature. as you arose, your teeth chattered, but a grin was still plastered on your face.

     “get in, the water’s great!” you invited treech to join you with a sarcastic remark as he stood to the side, opting to just watch you. you could tell he contemplated it, but he denied, shaking his head. “where’s the fun in that?” you whined.

     “i’ve gotta do something first.” he simply replied, a roguish glint in his eyes. you were suspicious, but let him do his own thing as you bathed in the water and sunshine. the gravelly sand that covered the bottom of the pond indented the skin on the underside of your legs, adding a soothing pressure as you sat down, letting the water ripple around you. many minutes passed, and you grew restless the more time you spent alone in the water. venturing further into the pond, schools of minnows could be found darting rapidly. they brushed past your skin, maneuvering around your moving form. all was quiet aside from the waves of the water as you forded through. a rustle in the bushes from behind you startled you, causing you to jump and turn around quickly. treech had come back, his hands behind his back.

     “whatcha got there?” you queried, swimming over to him as he kneeled by the water. he just smiled, pulling out a bouquet of colorful wildflowers from behind him. vibrant pink poppies, orange lilies, mauve colored petunias, a few orchids scattered here and there, and yellow wallflowers galore all seemed to bloom from his hand. you were in complete and utter astonishment at the bundle of flowers and the work he had gone through to pick them for you. they were tied together with a loose stem, and you delicately took them from his hand. mother nature’s sweet scent wafted from the stunning plants, instantly soothing you. “these are beautiful, treech,” he grinned, eyes lighting up with pride. his smile always made you melt, and the way his hazel eyes, speckled with green and honey tones, glowed golden in the sun made him seem ethereal. laying the flowers down gently on the grass beside treech, you draped your arms around his neck, placing a tender kiss on his lips. treech gradually joined you in the water, but not before you plucked the sole, pale blue morning glory from the bouquet and tucked it behind his ear, brushing his curls out of his eyes. he took your hand as you guided him further into the pond. the two of you splashed around, laughing for hours until your fingers pruned.

     treech had to drag you out of the water as the sun got lower and lower, the sky growing a burnt orange. you groaned playfully, but shook the water out of your hair anyway, allowing it to drip on the grass below you. the earth felt cool and damp under your bare feet, and the wind blew against your body, making you shiver. quickly, you slipped your shirt over your head, and tied your skirt around your waist, hoping to gain some warmth from the items of clothing that had been strewn out in the sun all day. it seemed to work, but your arms were still bare and the wind was picking up. treech noticed the goosebumps that had formed all along your forearms, and he helped you into his wool coat. smiling, you thanked him, grateful for the extra source of heat. gracefully, you picked up your dainty bouquet of flowers. intertwining your fingers with his, treech led you out of the familiar woods, taking you down the roads of district seven, back to your home. like the gentleman he was, treech walked you to your door, waiting to make sure you got inside safely before leaving. he was just about to leave as you slipped through the front door, but you called his name before he could go any further. he raised his eyebrows, urging you to go on.

     “i love you,” you professed, coyly.

     “i love you more,” treech declared with a smile, before promptly turning and bidding you goodnight, the flower still adorning his hair. 

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