#treech fanfiction

[choerypetal]

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

Capitol's love birds. / Treech

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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.”

[yukiokami]

my tears ricochet

treech x female 7th district reader

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

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

word count: 859

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

cause I loved you, I swear I loved you

till my dying day

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

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

the doors close and she hears him scream.

we gather here, we line up,

weepin' in a sunlit room

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

and if I'm on fire,

you'll be made of ashes, too

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

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

and she's just waiting for the attack.

and so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

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

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

we gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean

some to throw, some to make a diamond ring

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

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

and when you can't sleep at night

(you hear my stolen lullabies)

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

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

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

the peacekeepers take him away.

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

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

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

but what a ghostly scene

you wear the same jewels that I gave you

as you bury me

[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.

[ballad-of-birdy-lamb]

Hi, I really love your writing! I wanted to ask if you could do a romantic head canons for Tanner and Treech because I really love those characters and the reader can be fem or gender neutral. Enjoy the rest of your day!

How pretty it is, I think I'm in love.

Treech/Tanner x Gender neutral reader (separate romantic headcanons) Summary: Romantic headcanons about Treech and Tanner and how they fell in love with gender neutral! Reader Warning: mention of animal death (Tanner's part), blood, before and after the Hunger Games Word count: 1.4k ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

Treech:

It had been a warm October in District Seven, oddly enough since the weather was usually cold during this time. Treech kept his hands together as he swung down on the wood block in front of him. He glanced around, looking at the greenery around him, his eyes unconsciously going to you. He stared at you as you brought your ax down onto the block of wood.

He would never admit how he’d admire you from afar, how his face would grow warm when he saw you take on the harder work, or how you looked while you brought your ax down to continue your work. Treech didn’t fully understand his love for you but he would be yours if you asked him… you wouldn’t have to always ask.

The first couple times you both converse were very awkward. Treech would try making you laugh, but because of how nervous he would be, it would come off as really odd. It makes things a bit more difficult, especially breaking the ice, but it was slightly charming since he tried with his jokes (sometimes).

You would hang out with his friends and yours, having connections with each other, which makes

Just a couple hours before the reaping, Treech walked around the town, hoping to get even a sight of you.

When his name is called in the reaping, he doesn’t try finding you. He already accepted his end once he got to the stage in front of the kids of Seven. Treech’s eyes would find you in the crowd, the beauty of your soft eyes made him want to weep and ask you for a kiss before his inevitable death. But he bit his tongue and kept quiet.

The time spent waiting for the train with Lamina was mostly just sitting in silence, her occasional sob breaking the quiet. Treech could only sit with his thoughts, wondering what could have come if he actually ran to you. Perhaps you would have taken him into your arms. Or not. He didn’t want that answer for so long.

The isolation that followed while waiting for the train made everything worse, the knowledge that you could have gone home, without a thought for him or terrified about what could ensue in the arena made him worried.

After his victory in the arena, he’d finally come home to District Seven. But unlike Tanner, he wouldn’t seek you out after caring for himself for a bit. He wouldn’t show for a long while. It would mostly be because Treech couldn’t bring himself to go back to you without worrying you could have possibly seen his actions on the TV’s in the town electronics shop.

Three months, three long months was how long Treech spent trying to take care of himself after all that had happened in the arena. But he got the confidence to go out to see others, others that wouldn’t kill him, and he went to your home.

Treech spent the entire time explaining what had happened while he was in his house and how he held up in the arena, the arena explanation was the shortest since his mind hadn’t even fully recovered.

It was almost a natural instinct to confess how he had fallen in love with you, the softness of you as a whole and how you were kind. You were so special to him since you were willing to listen to him, and didn’t constantly view his victory as a real victory, just as he did. Treech couldn’t help blushing so brightly, his entire face was basically red.

“You’d like a kiss?” You asked with a breathful laugh. As much as it embarrassed, Treech couldn’t help accepting the offer, which you gave to him quickly.

Your hands held his vibrant red cheeks, brushing your thumb against his cheekbone as you pressed his lips to yours delicately. It wasn’t as amazing as Treech had imagined, far more incredible than he could have ever thought. It’s like he was getting a kiss from the heavens itself. His desperation for your lips caused him to pull you close, just close enough to put his hands on your back.

You didn’t pull away for a long while, several minutes even. Truthfully, who would want to leave Heaven?

Tanner:

Oh, how badly the pain in his stomach grew as he stared at you, the blood covering your fingers drew blood to his cheeks. You set the butcher's knife down before turning to leaving to the dressing rooms. Tanner swallowed thickly and wiped his face with his hands, hoping his face wasn't too red to the extent others would know.

It was so odd, how lovely you looked in a place filled with only death. He’d never understand that feeling he got when he’d see you, but Tanner couldn’t deny that he didn’t want it gone.

Tanner had met you in English class, maybe not have met you but he knew you existed, and you were lovely. You were so kind and hot and shit. What couldn't he like about you? And you worked in the same factory! So, he could see you outside school!

You were the most “magnificent piece of work” … as he would say, with the voice of a songbird that would keep him in place out of instinct.

Tanner would take any opportunity to talk to you and he wouldn’t try making it obvious that he liked when you were paired up together in class when your friends were gone. Maybe it was obvious to all, but he thought he was smooth enough (he wasn’t).

Reaping day was notorious throughout the district, all of Panem really. Tanner had spent his day with his friends or near the town square, hoping to find you around and possibly talk to you.

Nearly the entire conversation is trying to work you up enough to get a kiss, trying to butter you up before the reaping. Of course, Tanner would compliment you and your outfit and how nice you looked, jokingly saying you were trying to find him too.

You would spend parts of your time in the town square, walking with him and your friends. Your friends mainly talked about other things besides how Tanner was trying to flirt with you. He claimed they were being sad and stuff, but they were reacting like any other possible tribute, wishing their families would be fine without them. The same could be said for him too, but he hoped you would be fine without him.

When he was called for the reaping, obviously he was sad. Who wouldn't be in this situation? Maybe a murderer but that doesn't matter now. Tanner was going to walk to his death.

At the realization that he probably wouldn’t come home, he’d try finding his way to you. There wasn’t a distinct time when the new tributes could speak to their family before they left but he needed a little time to speak to you, admit he had felt a special fondness for you.

The entire time he was on the train was hoping you’d at least think of him while he was gone, hopefully positive thoughts.

But Tanner never got that, and he couldn’t get what could have come from it out of his mind. It was a partial comfort on the train ride to the Capital.

After the Hunger Games, he had gone home and slept, though his mind went to finding you. It was either your warm presence or the haunting nightmares that would seep back into his mind when he couldn’t think of anything new.

Tanner would find you again and finally give you that kiss that was meant long before the reaping. He wouldn’t try being nice about it, his feelings were intense, and that kiss will be too. He wouldn’t try pulling away for a long while, keeping you close and in his arms, where he wished you would stay forever.

Oddly enough, Tanner would confess his feelings to you after the kiss. He’d go on about how he couldn’t keep his eyes off you and later his lips.

At some point, he’d be asked about his time in the arena. Though Tanner had endless nightmares about the things he saw, the blood and the snakes, he would be boastful. He would claim he was never scared and try seeming stronger than he already was.

As time went on, you’d more likely see him stiffen and get scared at the sight or the smell of anything that reminded him of the arena. Tanner would never claim himself a victor, but he’d say he would.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

So sorry I haven't updated in a long while. Lowkey OOC but thank you for reading, nonetheless.

my tbosas masterlist

[moreespressoformydepresso]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rreginaa]

i am going through severe treemina brain rot can people please write more for them

also if anyone has any fic refs for them PLEASE LET ME COP THEM

i need to be fed i am hungry

[eldulcopatato]

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

[moreespressoformydepresso]

^^^

Reading Electric Rebels by ylvisruinedmylife on ao3…

Go read it. I literally had a mental breakdown.

It’s amazing.

Part I’m on rn:

“She nodded to herself. “What’s my favourite colour, Treech?”

Treech bowed his head, his hair hiding the shame colouring his ears red. “I don’t know,” he said.

“I don’t know yours, either,” she said. "You don't share as much as you think you do."

“Orange,” he said. “Like your hair. It makes me feel safe and hopeful. What about you?”

“Green,” she said. “Like the shirt you wore the night we were in the tree. It makes me feel calm and safe.”

ITS A REFERENCE🥲🥲🥲

Anyways…😃

[choerypetal]

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

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

Much Love

XOXO

O’ 🎀

[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.”

[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. 

[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

[moreespressoformydepresso]

It’s my boy!

Drew this a while back and finally finished it. This is Treech at the end of When The Clock Stops Ticking (We’ll Be Painted Red) plz don’t mind the quality I’m not amazing at art.