#treech thg x reader

[f0rlorn]

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. 

[imsofuckingdonewiththisgoddamn]

When Our Stars Cross Paths; Treech x Mentor!Reader

Pairing: Treech x Mentor!Reader

Word Count: 1.55k

Warnings: None

“You alright, DuPont?”

You was snapped out of your thoughts as Clemensia entered the bathroom you were currently brooding in. Her eyes were fixed on the rim of the sink you were currently stood over, glossy red nails digging into the sleek marble. It was reaping day, and unlike most of your peers, the games didn’t elicit boredom or disinterest. They evoked anger.

As much as your parents wanted to believe they had raised a Capitol sweetheart, you were as passionate about the cruelty of the Hunger Games as your dear friend Sejanus, maybe even more at times. You had cried yourself to sleep the first year the games were broadcasted out of sheer disgust and heartache, not being able to stomach the sight of all the gore and death. From that day forward, you had spent every reaping day locked away in your room, silently mourning children you would never be able to save. This year however, you and a handful of your fellow classmates had been asked personally by the Dean to make an appearance at the school’s broadcast of the reapings. Most had quickly came to the conclusion that the annual winner of the Plinth Prize, a hefty sum of money that Sejanus’s father annually awarded to the highest performing student, was going to be announced. The prize money failed to excite you as well. While you were one of the top scoring students of your class, you had more than enough money to put you and half of the student body through University. You assumed however, Coriolanus, another one of your classmates, would be eyeing that award.

You turned to face Clemensia, who had grown worried by your prolonged silence, Opting to stare aimlessly into the gold rimmed mirror instead of answering her. Your hands released the cool stone of the sink, and instead twisted together and wrung out, as if there was an invisible towel in your hands. Lips pursing together, attempting to force some form of a smile.

“Never better Clemmie!”

Your eyes grazed over the clusters of people as you entered the main hall. Clemensia had split off from you to go join Coriolanus and Festus Creed, who were having what appeared to be a rather one-sided conversation. Across from them you could see Dean Casca Highbottom trying to not-so-subtly intoxicate himself with morphling drops. Despite him being the creator of the Hunger Games, you were shocked he was still allowed to make public appearances, let alone give speeches. Your eyes finally landed on Sejanus, who was standing off in one of the corners of the room, a scowl prominent on his face.

“Sejanus!” You called to him, as you made your way over to where he was standing, being careful to not let your velvety black dress get snagged on anything as you weaved between students and staff members.

“Ms. DuPont, to what do I owe the pleasure?” His voice dripping with over sophisticated sarcasm as you approached. What was likely his first smile of the day creeping onto his tan face.

“How are you holding up?” Your voice lowering down to what was just below a whisper. Unlike you, Sejanus was born in the districts, only moving to the Capitol after his father made a risky bet, siding against the district rebels during the war. As a reward, the Capitol offered him and his family a place in the city, with an income that put even yours to shame. Although he was only eight when he left, part of Sejanus had always resented his father for making him and his Ma leave District two. Here he was ostracized by the majority of his peers, and merely tolerated by the rest. The reapings were just another reminder of another thing he had lost when he left. His sense of belonging.

“I don’t understand…” The boy’s former smile was quickly replaced by a grimace. “How can they all act so nonchalant about all this?? Like this is just any other day?”

You knew deep down he was feeling guilty, for the money he had, the immunity he was granted, all of it. While he was safe in the Capitol, all his former classmates from district two were at risk of being selected as tribute, most of whom were even at their young age dropping out of school to work, just to support their families. You wanted to comfort the boy more than anything, to tell him he wasn’t alone and that you understood the agony he was going through. But the words refused to leave your mouth, already choked up at the sight of your friend in front of you. Instead you chose to gently place a hand on his shoulder, tracing the intricate detailing of his suit as you tried to collect yourself, so you would be able to console the compassionate boy. “It’s going to be fine Sejanus, we’ll figure out wh-”

Your attempts at comforting the boy were cut short by the sound of a throat clearing at the front of the hall. Dean Highbottom had taken his place in front of a large wooden podium, where a woman with graying hair and cold dead eyes stood. A shiver was sent down your spine as you caught a glimpse of them, the one milky white eye contrasting against the electric blue one. The woman had a sinister aura and you could feel yourself backing away out of instinct. On either side of her TVs displayed the beginnings of the reapings, cameras giving brief flashes of each of the twelve districts, where children were standing in fenced off sections. Your heart sank as the grainy footage showed a cluster of twelve year old girls from what you believed to be district eleven. All wide eyes and jerky movements, this was the first year that they were at risk of being reaped.

“I’m assuming you all are waiting for news of the Plinth Prize?” The Dean was clearly more than just a little inebriated by the sound of it, yet his words inspired an excited buzz to fill the hall, with many of your fellow peers speculating on who would be this year’s recipient.

“I’m here to inform you that the prize will work a little differently this year.” Highbottom’s voice echoed off the walls as an anticipatory silence fell over the crowd.

“Twenty four of the top accomplished students will each receive a tribute that is reaped today, to mentor and guide throughout the games. Whichever mentor gets their tribute to…perform the best, will receive the prize. Winning will be taken into consideration, but will not be the deciding factor.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You turned to face Sejanus to see if he was in as much shock as you were. How were a group of capitol kids who had no experience whatsoever with fighting or survival skills supposed to “guide” their tributes?? Considering what the Capitol was forcing them to do, you would be surprised if any of them would even speak to you.

Sejanus returned your stare, a look of imminent dread appearing on his face. Knowing his father, he had probably already bribed the dean to give him a tribute from District two.

Highbottom then began to roll of the names of students who would act as mentors, coinciding with the reapings from each district, as photos of the tributes appeared on the TVs, their names listed below them.

“District two male, Sejanus Plinth…” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Sejanus sink lower into his seat. You silently reached over to grasp his hand as a photo of a well built eighteen year old boy appeared on the TV to your left. He had wide set shoulders and a scowl smeared across his face as a group of Peacekeepers ushered him onto the stage, nudging him in the back with the butts of their riffles. In large text below his figure you could read out the name Marcus. From the apparent misery plastered across your friend’s face, it was easy to assume that the two had known at each other at one point.

As the Dean went down the list of mentors, you found yourself zoning out, trying to think of ways in which you would be able to help your tribute. You would need to find out whether or not they were of any use with a weapon, and if not, where would they be able to hide and lay low. As your mind raced with all different types of scenarios you would need to prepare your tribute for, you almost missed Dean Highbottom calling out your name.

“District seven male, Y/N DuPont…”

Eyes bolting up to the screens in front of you, you were met with the sight of him. He was well built like Marcus, with dark curls peeking out from under a worn out hat. He looked like he was your age— seventeen or maybe eighteen, yet his eyes were those of a young child, filled with fear and terror. His olive skin seemed to have drained of all its color as he was marched to the platform, Peacekeepers on either side of him.

Your eyes trailed down the screen to where his name was listed…

‘Treech’

A/N

I haven’t seen enough fanfics for this man, so I decided to make one myself! Let me know if you would like a part two!

xoxo

[ballad-of-birdy-lamb]

I keep seeing that white twink only. I’m tweaking the fuck out. Write for the other characters for the love of GOD

[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.”

[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."

[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.

[poppinspops]

Dating Coral headcannons!

Divider made by: @/cafekitsune on tumblr

Before the hunger games set back in D4

Coral would SO be an overprotective girlfriend

Corals' love language is definitely touch. One could describe her need to have something touching you as an addiction

She adores holding your hand, having some part of her just touching you in some way, small kisses and things like that

She's not much of a sweet talker, though she will flirt with you from time to time

She's definitely taken you out to watch her fish showing off her raw strength

She LOVES to run her fingers through your hair no matter the lengths as long as she's touching you

Coral would SO flirt with you whilst you two are in the middle of an argument smirking and all when it catches you off guard

She is definitely the jealous type. She thought she's not insecure about your relationship, no, not at all. She just perfers if you stuck near her

Coral would adore your siblings if you had any, especially if they were your younger siblings since she's (I believe) an older sister herself

You definitely had at least once gotten her to walk with you on the beach. Like in those romance books that she so despises, she would have complained the whole time but secretly loved it as it was just her, you snd the ocean

Coral would have given you her jacket if she noticed you didn't have one and eventually you'd have a pile of just her jackets in your room since she refuses to take them back using an excuse like "keep em' they look better on you anyways"

Yes, you two have definitely gotten into arguments over her being protective of you, mainly just her scaring away your friends, your two personalitys clashing at times

Your friends have told you to leave coral at times when your arguments are no longer small petty ones, but you'd always tell them to buzz off they just didn't understand coral the way you did

I dont see coral as one of those people who are fans of pet names, but I could see her liking to call you 'darling or gorgeous' nothing special

During the hunger games

If you two just so happened to be in the hunger games, I feel she wouldn't be as gentle as before putting up a tough exterior, not that she would be cruel to you she would definitely be kinder to you than anyone else

Coral is not the nicest person during the game's, so when you're looking all checking out, the arena coral would have demanded you came over to her, forcing you to join her little group

She needed to have you in her view or at least near her most of the time in the arena, she didn't quite trust any of her members in the pack but if she really needed you to go looking with the other two she would send you off with treech not trusting tanner enough to not try something when she wasn't there

Coral would share her food with you even if you had gotten food from doing stunts in the cage she still would split her food with you making sure you ate enough

Coral would isolate you from the other tributes

Whether she was just being possessive or her just being cautious, she would be mad if you just started talking to other tributes, especially lucy Gray baird. Oh, that one would make her blood boil, seeing you two getting along in front of her.

She would have yelled at you to get back to her side, giving you the cold shoulder for a bit, glaring daggers into lucy grays head

If you just so happend to not get selected with coral, you would boost her need to survive and win the game, making her a little bit more 'bloodthirsty' and ruthless

Well, that's it for now. I'm still writing Tanner, Lamina, and treechs. I just haven't had much free time recently, sorry! I did enjoy writing this. Please do tell if there are spelling mistakes!

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

HIS BELLADONA PT.3 treech x mentor reader Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3

But before I could continue, several peacekeepers roughly grabbed Treech and Lamina and dragged them into a waiting van.,, Hey stop dragging them like that, you're going to hurt them, let them go, they'll go on their own." I yelled at the peacekeeper and shoved him. ,, Hey what are you doing what do you think you're doing you stupid girl.” he yelled back at me but stopped when he realized who I was. Even though my father was a violent drunk, he was still one of the peacekeepers in the Capitol.,, I'm sorry Miss Belladon I..." I cut him off sharply, "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to" I said and pointed at tribute. The man very reluctantly apologized and encouraged the rest of the tributes to get into the car themselves. I wondered where they were going to take them, but before I could come to an opinion, someone quickly grabbed my hand and pulled me into the car. It was Coriolanus, I gave him a confused look, but before I could say anything the truck door closed and the whole truck started moving. Only now did I realize that everyone was staring at Coriolanus and me.,, What happened, doves, you are in the wrong cage." asked a tall boy, I think his name was Reaper. "No this cage is delightful." answered Coryo with irony in voice. However, the tributes didn't like that and Reaper came after us. He slammed us both against the wall and I let out a mad scream as the wall dug right into my wounds with stitches from last night. The scream obviously shocked everyone, so much so that Reaper let go of me.,, Leave her alone.....please." Coriolanus defended me.,, If I were you, I would worry about myself first," Reaper snapped back. "He's right we'll kill you first and then we'll have some fun with this capitol girl." added another boy I think it's Tanner. "Please Reaper, Tanner don't hurt him we just wanted to help you." I rasped. Both boys looked at me with disbelief in their eyes.,, How do you know our names." Tanner blurted out.,, I remember most of your names, how else should I call you Hey you from the tenth district." I replied trying to get up from floors.,, Prove it." someone else blurted out again.,, Okay so you're Coral, Tanner, Dill, Reaper, Brandy, Jessup, Lucy Gray, Mizzen, Lamina, Marcus, Bobbin, Wovey.....and finally my tribute to Treech." I finished a very long monologue. All the tributes looked at me like I was crazy. "Why did lumberjack and songbird get mentors?" Coral exclaimed angrily. "You all got them but only the two of us came earlier." Coryo answered her. "I think the two of us got the best trainers what do you think songbird," Treech said after a while, looking at Lucy Gray who just giggled. Her laughter quickly faded as the floor below us tilted.

[nemesii]

ANGEL EYES — TREECH!

You were a creator, some would say. During those nights when sleep often managed to evade your grasp, you would sit at your old table in your room, wielding a pencil. The gunmetal grey of it would contrast the blank horizon of the amber-toned sheet. Staining the paper in such an authoritative way, you would mar it with various lines that formed a design of some sort. You wanted to tire yourself out, drain your mind of your ideas and impart them onto paper, in hopes of lulling yourself to sleep.

“Oh, these designs are absolutely gorgeous dear!!” You recalled your mother encouraging you when you had sheepishly showed her the product of your nightly endeavours, “Why don’t you help your father in the workshop and make these beautiful designs of yours a reality, hm?”

The distant echo of your father saying your name slowly drew you back into the busy atmosphere of the workshop.

“Hm?” You replied quickly, acknowledging his attempts to get you to focus.

“Look kiddo, I know it’s been tough since… the new laws, but let’s try get some work done today, okay? You just let me know if you ever need a break.” He looks at you sympathetically and pats your head gently. He’s always done this, no matter how old you were. You were forever guaranteed those comforting head pats from your father, which served as one of the few moments of solace in this harsh reality.

“I’m fine, Dad!! I was just zoning out, that’s all. I’m already used to the workload you know, it has been 4 years you know.”

You’re met with the sound of his hearty laughter and with that, you resume your work momentarily. Your hand effortlessly guides the sharpened instrument across the wood, shaving and smoothing out any imperfections. Raising it up and examining it, you internally approve of your fine handiwork.

“How does it look? Do you think those Capitol snobs would like it?” You direct the question to your father, holding up the wooden carving of a deer head in your hands.

He pauses for a moment and pretends to think carefully, before nodding. “Why, this would be a perfect accessory for our collection of other carved animal heads!” He laughs, and it’s clear he’s joking, imitating the materialistic character of the Capitol.

This impression causes you to laugh along with him. After all, if you had faced the oppression of the Capitol it would be hard to resist mocking them in the safety of your own home.

Suddenly, the door of the workshop creaks. A bell rings, and your father and you instantly put on poker faces. If it were the Peacekeepers, the worst punishment they could legally deal for mockery would be a beating. Perhaps maybe a shot to the head if they were feeling it, because it was common knowledge the Capitol never played fairly.

To your relief, it was just one of your father’s friends and his son. Your father instantly brightened up and greeted the two.

“Hey, you two got some wood for us?” Your father smiles.

“Yeah, and a whole lot of it too. It’s been much easier harvesting all this wood with my son to do most of the work for me!” The other older man jokes, slapping his son on the back. Your father responds with a chortle of laughter and nods approvingly at Treech.

“Same goes for me too. With my kiddo here she’s taken half the workload off my back.”

Three pairs of eyes direct their focus towards you, and you stray your attention away from your wooden deer to meet a set of hazel ones. As the fathers continue their conversation, the boy about your age approaches you. The sun pours into the workshop and illuminates his brown curls, bleaching them a shade of caramel.

“You made this?” He asks in a rather abruptly, but he makes up for his tone with the way he sends you a boyish smile.

You laugh softly and nod, “Yeah, I did.”

“It’s beautiful. I don’t know how you turn a log into a masterpiece like this.”

“Thank you, I try! Just a bit of carving and hard work, that’s all.”

He continues to admire the fine handiwork you’ve done, gingerly running the tips of his fingers across the grooves of your piece. It was almost as if he was scared to break it, but wanted to dare to feel it for himself nonetheless.

“What’s your name?” He asks, his brown locks spilling out from under his hat. Upon asking this question he quickly diverts his gaze back to the deer ornament, but after a few seconds he dares to meet your eyes again with an unfaltering look. As you utter your name, his mouth widens and it’s almost as if he had been entranced the moment you said your name.

“The name’s Treech. Hopefully we’ll see each other more often?” Treech asks and it’s during this that you take the chance to notice his angel eyes. The mixture of hazel and chestnut, sprinkled with hints of sage and the colour of the sky.

You watch him slowly retreat back to his father who is about to exit the workshop and you quickly take in the situation, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you around?”

Treech looks back, sporting a sweet smile to you before leaving. It seemed he had left as quickly as he had entered, and a small part of you had hoped he would wander in again soon.

just wanted to post the first chapter of my treech fic from wattpad onto here!

here's the link if you want to continue reading it, the 2nd and 3rd chapters feature more interactions between treech and u !

https://www.wattpad.com/story/359118000-district-7-sweethearts-treech

[jjmaybanksdomgf]

Chapter 1 - The Reaping

Y/N was filled with anticipation as she sat in the crowded hall, waiting for the Dean, Highbottom, to announce the mentors for the tributes.

The air was thick with tension as the speaker's voice boomed through the room, his eyes scanning the sea of faces before him.

Finally, he began to speak. "District one," he announced, his tone grave. "The boy goes to Livia Cardew, and the girl goes to Palmyra Monty."

As the words left his lips, the room erupted into a flurry of activity. The two mentors standing on either side of the speaker broke out into wide, triumphant smiles, no doubt thrilled to have secured what they considered to be the "best" tributes.

It angered her, why did they get the pick of the litter? They did have the best tributes, obviously they're the best. Why wouldn't they be? They're in District one. She sat there and glared at the two who just grinned widely.

Highbottom had coughed, surprisingly loudly which made everyone quiet down. "District two." She crossed her fingers tightly and looked up at the screens.

"Boy goes to Sejanus Plinth and the girl goes to Florus Friend." 

She sat there and groaned but something caught her eye. She watched as Coriolanus congratulated Sejanus, everyone knew where Sejanus was really from. Sejanus didn't grin nor did he look happy, he looked angry. Was he angry that he had gotten a tribute from a good District?

"District three. Boy goes to Io Jasper and the girl goes to Urban Canville."

She sat there, waiting for her name to be called, hopefully next.

"District four." And he paused. What was wrong?

He coughed, loudly, yet again.

"Boy goes to Y/N L/N. Girl goes to Festus Creed." She knew everyone was now looking at the two of them but she ignored them and instead looked up at the screen to see her tribute. 

It was a young boy who looked no older than thirteen, he was wearing a discoloured sweater vest, a pair of dirty jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and a blue hat. He has brown, medium-lengthed hair which was styled into a messy middle part.

She then quickly turned to the other screen to look at Festus' tribute, it was an older girl, probably around sixteen, and she looked a lot tougher than her tribute. She snarled at her classmate, hating how she got the weaker tribute. She quietly muttered a curse under her breath.

Highbottom started again. "District five. Boy goes to-"... he trailed off. She wasn't listening anymore, she sat there thinking about her tribute and how he was going to be the reason she won't win the plinth prize. She sulked.

"District 12. Boy goes to Lysistrata Vickers and the girl goes to... she goes to Coriolanus Snow." Her head snapped up at the name and she looked at him. He looked displeased, almost provoked. She had a small smirk on her face as she watched him tense up when he looked at his tribute on the screen.

... Was she an idiot? Why would she put a snake down that girls dress? A fool. I winced as she got punched to the floor. She quickly got up, though and walked up to the microphone on the stage.

"...Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping. Nothing you can take was ever worth keeping." The girl shakily sang to the crowd, following on from a younger girl in the crowd.

My head turned away from the screen due to the sound of Arachne mocking Coriolanus and the poor girl. Sure, I didn't like Coriolanus but God did I despise Arachne. 

My head turned back to the screen. "You can't take my charm... can't take my humour. Can't take my wealth cause it's just a rumour. Nothing you can take... was ever worth keeping. You can't take my sass, you can't take my talking."

She stopped for a few seconds, looking at the camera.

"You can kiss my ass!" She screamed as loud as she could. And just before she left, she did some kind of bow. How weird...

[f0rlorn]

kingdom come → treech

treech!tbosas x reader

notes → in which your lover gets ripped away from you, and you’re left with mere memories, a promise, and a locket. feminine intended reader. i am a district seven girly FOR LIFEEE. when i was making a plan for a cato fic on wattpad, reader was ofc from seven ✨

warnings → me giving characters angst alert part two!!! not edited & uploaded via iphone

     “treech!” you giggled as you chased him in the woods you called your backyard. you heard him laugh as he leapt over a stream. attempting to follow him, you slipped, accidentally landing in the shallow water. luckily, you had your rain boots on. the red rain boots with hand painted black polk a dots that reminded you of ladybugs. on the other hand, your ruffly dress was not so lucky, soaked with water, dirt crawling at the hems. treech whipped around at the sound of you splashing, and offered a hand to help you up. you giggled as you took his hand. “thank you, my knight.” you teased, beginning to walk back to your home.

     “anything for m’lady!” treech declared, raising his arm triumphantly. your youth was filled with heartwarming moments like this. days spent playing with treech in the woods when the two of you were kids. and when you grew into your teenage years, long, meaningful conversations filled with laughter and secrets with each other after treech finished working. you had known treech your whole life, best friends for fifteen years and lovers for three, he was a part of you. 

     today, the day of the reaping, your mother had laid out an old striped dress of hers. the once colorful stripes had faded into something dreary, but the dress fit you like a glove. it was common knowledge in the districts that children should dress nice for the reaping. not because it was some momentous occasion, but because what they wear then might be the last thing they wear ever. dressing them up for their funerals, a devastating truth. treech met you outside, and he tilted his hat to you when you stepped out of the door. 

     “m’lady,” he greeted, providing his arm for you to latch onto. “well don’t you look ravishing,” he mused, and you curtsied at his compliment, before looping your arm through his. you were treech’s pride and joy and he made sure to treat you as such. the boy was more than happy to show you off, parading you around the streets of seven. the two of you chatted lightly about the days events as he guided you to the town’s square, located a mile and half from your house. eventually you had to part ways with him, but not before you left a quick peck on the cheek. he wore the kiss on his face boastfully as he joined the group of boys to your left. you smiled, finding your own place in the crowd of girls. the process went as normal, a few small announcements made before the female tribute was reaped. her name was lamina, a beautiful tragedy wrapped in a vest, but not anyone you recognized.

     your breath hitched as they called for the male tribute. it had happened so fast. you had never been this overwhelmed. they called treech’s name. your treech. you allowed yourself to hyperventilate for a few moments before catching sight of the boy slowly walking towards the front of the hall of justice. district seven, being one of the largest districts, had thousands of kids piled into the town square, separated by gender. out of the entire population of seven’s youth, it never occurred to you that your boyfriend could be the unlucky victim to be reaped. 

     struggling to control your breathing, you leaped into action, shoving your way through the crowd of girls to the pathway down the middle of the block. treech, still in shock, made his way down said pathway rather hesitantly, as if in disbelief that he had really been reaped. his eyes were scanning the crowd as he passed, stopping for a moment as he met yours. in an instant, you reached forward and grabbed him, pulling him into a hug before any nearby peacekeeper could intervene.

     “i love you, treech. i love you, i love you, i love you!” you repeated, sobbing into his jacket. his arms wrapped around you tightly, not wanting to let go.

     “i’ll win this, y/n, for you. i’ll see you soon, it’ll only be a couple days, just you wait.” he mumbled his promise to you. you pulled apart, woefully wiping away the lipstick mark on his face, cleaning him up for the cameras. there was no doubt that the entirety of the capital was watching you now. what must they think of the spectacle you had created? were they intrigued? disgusted? at this point, the peacekeepers had made their way to him, dragging him onstage.

     “treech!” you objected, reaching out for him. another peacekeeper lightly knocked you backwards, a pitiful expression adorning his face. the girls nearby, some you recognized and some strangers, held the same expression. none spoke, just stared at you. keeping your eyes on the ground, you creeped back to your spot in the crowd. soon enough, peacekeepers were hauling your boyfriend into the hall, and more were beginning to clear the square, forcing you to make your way back to your place of residence. unbeknownst to you, treech had slipped a token in the pocket of your dress before he was pulled away. it wasn’t until halfway through your agonizing, lonely trek back home that you noticed it. it was a dainty, wooden heart shaped locket. patterns had been intricately carved into the surface, no doubt by the careful hands of your loving treech. you traced the patterns with the pads of your fingers, tears staining the wooden block. 

     you clutched the locket, a newfound hope seeping into you, as you held onto the promise that he would win. for you.

[imsofuckingdonewiththisgoddamn]

When Our Stars Cross Paths; IV Treech x Mentor!Reader

Pairing: Treech x Mentor!Reader

Word Count: 1.71k

Warnings: Swearing, Violence

Sweet Angels🪻: @nemesii @mrsyixingunicorn10 @chmpgneprblem @thxmiss @storiesofmyhead @valdezsttuff @nekee-lilac02 @shykittycat @aceofspades190

🎬Mood boards🎬

Let the record show that you went above and beyond as a mentor.

That was the first thought to pass through your mind as the heavy doors of the van were slammed shut by oblivious peacekeepers, trapping you and Coriolanus in a confined space with around a dozen tributes who wanted you dead.

You kept your eyes fixed at a point on the floor towards the opposite end of the van, scared of what—or rather who you would see if you lifted your gaze. Not that you would be able to blame them. Had you been in their position, you would’ve jumped at the opportunity to seek revenge.

If Coriolanus was as unsettled as you were, he did a damn good job of hiding it. Straightening his posture, he brushed off the dust that had accumulated on his vermillion Academy uniform. While he may have had the confidence, he stuck out like a sore thumb and you were suddenly very grateful for having chosen against such a conspicuous outfit. Coming to the conclusion that you were just as safe, if not more safe than Coriolanus, due to having introduced yourself and offered food to several of the tributes you were currently riding with, you allowed your eyes to slowly lift from the dirty metal floor of the van. Unfortunately for you, the spot where you had previously been fixating at had been right where Treech was standing, with your eyes suddenly meeting as your gaze ascended from the floor. His arm was hanging onto the railing that ran along the length of the van, and his eyes bore into you the same way they had when you had slapped him minutes prior. Behind him you could see a little girl who you believed to be Wovey from District eight. Your few tedious moments of tension were broken by Coriolanus clearing his throat, an action that brought the rest of the tributes attention towards the two of you. If they hadn’t been staring already.

“Hi.” It was barely audible, but the echo of the van carried the single word and let it hang in anticipatory silence. Your face cringed at t he sound of if. Here you two were, a couple of rich Capitol kids who had waltzed into a vehicle with a bunch of exhausted kids who were being held like prisoners, and he was acting like it was some sort of field trip.

“What’s the matter, Pretty Boy? Got in the wrong cage?” The boy from District eleven, Reaper spoke up from where he stood at the opposite end of the van, next to Treech. Clemmie had been assigned as his mentor and had been more than pleased when it was announced, and you could see why. The boy was by far the biggest out of everyone in the van and stood well past six feet tall, with huge shoulders and a square jaw permanently shaped into a scowl, he was downright terrifying.

“No, not at all. This cage is delightful.” It was an awful attempt at clearing the tension, but you had to give your classmate credit for having the balls to make such a statement.

Reaper, however, didn’t appreciate the boy’s comment and suddenly lurched forward, making great strides across the van from where he formerly stood next to Treech. Before you knew it, the dark skinned boy had Coriolanus pressed up against the wall of the vehicle, his large hands fisting the material of his Academy coat.

The van suddenly came to life with action, with variously tributes egging on Reaper to kill Coriolanus. Exceptionally happy for the sudden opportunity to retaliate in the violence that was being imposed upon them.

“Get him Reaper!” You could hear a boy urging from somewhere behind you. Coriolanus’s formerly collected facade was quickly falling apart at the realization of his probable imminent death, his hands desperately reaching out in a feeble attempt to push the much larger boy off of him.

“I’ll kill you right now.” Reaper growled as he somehow managed to push Coriolanus further into the wall. You didn’t take Reaper as someone who was all bark and no bite, and was nearly certain he would go through with his threat if there was no immediate intervention.

“He’ll do it.” A raspy voice piped up from next to you—Dill, Reaper’s district partner. “He killed a peacekeeper back in eleven. They never found out who did it.” The young girl smirked a bit after the past comment, before a cough came over her and she was sent into a fit.

“Quiet Dill.” Reaper turned around only long enough to reprimand the younger girl, but his scolding had already brought all eyes towards Dill, which subsequently brought attention to you.

“Looks like Pretty Boy came with a friend.” Tanner, the boy from District ten, whistled out. He was Domitia’s tribute, and you had been severely disturbed by his reaping, where his hands had been shown to be bloody from what you hoped was a morning at the slaughterhouse. While now there was only faint traces of blood buried underneath his fingernails, the taller boy still wore a particularly wicked grin on his face as he slowly approached you, eyes never leaving yours. You subconsciously took a few steps back, your body now flush against the cold metal wall alongside Coriolanus. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in here?” Tanner’s question might have been phrased more nicely than Reaper’s, but it was still laced with the same tone of anger and vengeance. Your petrified eyes left Tanner’s unnerving gaze, and you peered over his shoulder, to shaken to answer the District ten boy. Treech’s eyes were also fixed on you, but in a way that was much more contemplative and pensive, as if he was debating on whether or not he should intervene. However, much to your shock it wasn’t Treech nor Coriolanus who came to your rescue. It was Lamina.

The sullen girl had slipped from her spot beside Treech without anyone noticing and moved to stand between you and Tanner, acting as a barrier to protect you despite her obvious shaking. Lucy Gray also made herself known, appearing from her spot deep in the van to approach Reaper, a silence falling over the riled up tributes as the girl spoke up.

“You got family back home?” The question was obviously intended for Reaper and Tanner, but she looked around the van as if her question was pointed towards all of them.

“They’ll kill them if you hurt either of them, and then they’ll kill you.” Lucy Gray spoke as if it were obvious, and the realization seemed to set in on the two boys and they thankfully backed away towards their respective district partners. Lamina let out a sigh of relief, her hands still shaking in little balled fists. You were in awe at her bravery, not only for confronting a much larger tribute, but also that she did it for you, someone who was virtually a stranger.

“Besides, I might need him, being my mentor and all.” The last part caused Coriolanus’s gaze to immediately shift to Lucy Gray, as if he was shocked that she was coming to his defense.

“Mender? How come you get a mender?” A girl with a bright red bob, Coral, interrogated from her corner of the van.

“A mentor.” Coriolanus corrected, he was always a stickler when it came to grammar and pronunciation. Something that could annoy you to no end when he went of his rants during class. “Each of you get one, to help guide you throughout the games.”

“And were supposed to trust you on that?” Coral retorted, unimpressed with the boy’s answer. “Why does Little Miss Rainbow get special treatment?” The redheaded girl pointed an accusatory finger at Lucy Gray, as if she was responsible for her mentor’s shortcomings. You made a mental reminder to warn Festus, Coral’s mentor, on how much of a firecracker she was before he could meet her for himself. You were near certain he would pleased though, feisty types tended to fare well in the games. Getting her to entertain the Capitol however, would be a different battle.

“She doesn’t get special treatment, you all have mentors.” Coriolanus reiterated, clearly still on edge from his close encounter with Reaper. “Then why aren’t they here?” This time Bobbin, a boy from District eight spoke up, clearly interested in the prospect of having a mentor.

“Just not inspired, I guess.” Lucy Gray added, a smirk forming on her face. She must’ve known her performance at the Reapings had garnered her mentor’s attention. You felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. Little did she know that only a few moments before her singing, Coriolanus had already given up any hope of her winning.

“Who does she belong to?” Tanner inquired, although he had backed a few feet away, his stare had never broken away from you. He slightly licked his lips which was already enough to make you shudder. What was his deal?

“Back of ten.” Your eyes suddenly moved towards the voice, landing on the tall frame of Treech, who had let go of his railing and was moving closer towards Tanner. “You got lucky Lumberjack, I’m honestly a bit jeal-”

Tanner didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Because before you knew it, the van jerked, knocking everyone to the ground in a wave on shock and confusion. Lamina landed on top of you, which surprisingly didn’t hurt due to her being much smaller. She quickly moved off of you with a soft apology as everyone tried to regain their balance. However, another lurch sent everyone tumbling onto the floor once again. This time you landed next to Treech, your head falling against his chest as the floor started sloping, sending the piles of tributes and mentors into the metal doors with a slam. You tried to raise your head from Treech’s chest to get a grasp as to what was happening, but his arm reached out to wrap around you, holding you in place against his body. Before you could fight against him the metal doors of the van suddenly jutted open, dumping everyone out, and sending them falling towards the ground below.

A/N

We are Lamina stans here!!! Love to see Treech’s protectiveness as well, so stay prepared for that in coming chapters! Hopefully I will be able to post another chapter in the next day or two!

XOXO

[ballad-of-birdy-lamb]

My Tbosas fanfic masterlist!!

My requests are open!!!

Of course, my request list/rules:

Request rules and list

Coriolanus Snow:

Romantic headcanons with Gender neutral reader

Coriolanus comforts gender neutral reader who is a tribute

Crush headcanon with Plinth! Female reader

Coriolanus looking through District Twelve for female! reader

Spending time with gender neutral! reader at the lake near District Twelve

Hurt comfort headcanons with male! Victor! Reader

Fluff to hurt/comfort headcanons with male! Reader

Lucy Gray:

Comfort fic in the arena with gender neutral reader

Romantic headcanons with female reader

Romantic poly headcanons with shy! Gender neutral! reader (ft. Billy Taupe)

Romantic headcanons of Lucy Gray exploring the woods with female! reader

If you were a boy - Lucy Gray x Fem! Reader fic

I'll hide you in my poetry - Lucy Gray x Fem! Covey Member! Reader headcanon & small oneshot

Sejanus:

Basic romantic headcanon with female reader

Female reader comforts Sejanus while he's in District Twelve

Sejanus Plinth x Fem! Snow! Reader romantic headcanons

Gender neutral reader angst with Sejanus after he's caught

Making peace with my inevitable death - Sejanus Plinth x fem! Reader romantic oneshot

Billy Taupe:

Romantic poly headcanons with shy! Gender neutral! reader (ft. Lucy Gray)

Mayfair:

__

Jessup:

Jessup Diggs x Fem! Affectionate! Reader x Reaper Ash separate romantic headcanons

Reaper:

Sejanus Plinth x Fem! Reader x Reaper Ash separate romantic headcanons

Jessup Diggs x Fem! Affectionate! Reader x Reaper Ash separate romantic headcanons

Basic romantic headcanons with gender neutral! reader

Fluff headcanons at a party with gender neutral! victor! reader

Are you sick of me? Would you like to be? - Reaper Ash x Fem! Crush Reader romantic crush headcanons

Dill:

__

Coral:

Coral x Gender neutral! Reader romantic headcanons

Intermixed romantic headcanons with gender neutral! Reader within District Four and in the arena

Mizzen:

Platonic headcanons with Male! Reader

Treech:

Romantic headcanons with friendly! Gender neutral! Reader

Won't you stay with me, my darling? - Treech x Fem! Tribute! Reader romantic hurt comfort fic

How pretty it is, I think I'm in love - Treech/Tanner x gn! Reader separate romantic headcanons

Lamina

Romantic headcanons with friendly! Gender neutral! Reader

Clemensia:

__

Tigris:

Basic romantic headcanons with female! reader

Dr. Gaul:

__

Brandy

__

Tanner

How pretty it is, I think I'm in love - Treech/Tanner x gn! Reader separate romantic headcanons

_______

This is all at the moment, there will be more added later when I get through the eight requests I have going already!!

Thank you all for your support, it's been very fun writing for this fandom!!

[bumblebugwrites]

no evil angel but love - series masterlist

Pairing: Victor!Treech x fem!Reader

Summary: After winning the ninth annual Hunger Games, Y/N L/N returns home to District 10 with a promise: that she may live the rest of her life in peace. One year later, Treech Elmore is granted the same immunity following his victory in the tenth Games. So what happens when that promise is a lie?

With the eleventh annual Hunger Games quickly approaching, the Capitol sets out to make its biggest changes yet, starting with the mentorship system.

General Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Cursing, Suggestive Themes, Use of Weapons, Mention of Injuries, Character Death, Liberal Use of Both Book and Movie Canon. (Warnings will vary from update to update.)

chapter 1: nothing's new | word count: 6.5k

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

“Not evil, just practical.”

chapter 2: vampire empire | word count: 7.1k

“You really shouldn’t tell people so much.” And it hurts to say. It burns like hot guilt in his chest, but he knows it is right.

“Why? You gonna spill all my secrets to the Capitol, pretty boy?”

chapter 3: oh, children | word count: 7.6k

“You never answered my last letter.”

“I–” he begins, but then seems to think better of what he was going to say, instead clearing his throat before continuing. “I must have forgotten.”

chapter 4: i bet on losing dogs | word count: 6.2k

3. Something moves in the water. Something large.

2. The boy from 8 steps off his platform a split second too early. It blows. To his left, Bee brings both hands up to shield her face, sinking away in panic. Her heel nearly slips, and you feel like throwing up. 

1. The room is silent. Dead silent. On the screen, the tributes begin to run.

chapter 5: killer | word count: 9.3k

You can hardly imagine a world where, upon being faced with you, the Capitol citizens can manage anything other than sheer horror. Still, if some party is all that’s standing between you and returning home, you’ll find a way to get through it, even if you have to grit your teeth and bite your tongue until it bleeds.

chapter 6: bite the hand | word count: 6.6k

“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.”

chapter 7: sign of the times | word count: 6.7k

“You still love him, don’t you?” The question nearly has you jumping out of your skin. Still, you elect to avoid any direct sort of answer because the truth is, you aren’t sure.

“How would you know?”

“I’m your sister. I know you better than I know myself.”

[venusbyline]

Omg I see that you write for Treech and like 😭😭😭 yes I love him sm you are doing a service to this community I salute you bestie

tysm bestie!!! <3 i luv him so much, he's so pretty and babygirl i caaaan't :(

i wish more thg/tbosas stans could notice our pretty boy too

[bimb0fy]

bruno is orange -> a treech series

pairings; treech x covey!reader

synopsis; you were a winner, so was he. you were placed into the hunger games, so was he. you killed, so has he. so why was it so hard to not understand his motives, to him, it was pure hatred, to you, it was justification.

contents

— 00; prologue