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Clove kentwell x reader where clove mentors reader? It’s ok if not tho
Glory to the Victors - Clove Kentwell
masterlist
Only a Career would consider Reaping Day a blessing. For most of Panem, this celebration of the Capitol is more of a curse. Over the next few weeks, twenty-four bright and blossoming Tributes will enter the jewel of your country, and only one will walk out. It’s brutal, it’s bloodthirsty, and it’s the opportunity you’ve been waiting for your entire life.
After all, your experience as a tribute doesn’t end when you become the final survivor of the Hunger Games. No, that’s when your life just begins. Victors get a better shot at just about everything. You’d get more freedom to leave District Two on your Victory Tour, then constant visits to the Capitol whenever your audience was requested. Your home has felt like a prison for years now, a cell block of parental expectation and hunger. If you could leave– if you could win– you’d risk everything. And you will.
Every child worth something in District Two has been training for the Hunger Games for their entire lives, and you are certainly no exception. You’re a well-rounded candidate, capable of distance running, fast sprints, survival techniques, and most methods of fighting, but you prefer your knives above all else. Whether you’re throwing one to keep your distance or sneaking one up your sleeve for when death is least expected, you’ve made sure you’re ready for anything. The fact that District Two’s last Victor, Clove Kentwell, was a fierce proponent of her knives only solidified the idea in your mind. If she could do it, so can you.
Clove. The girl has a pedestal like an idol in your mind. She’s only a year or two older than you, but she entered her Games young and won them decisively. It’s not as if anyone would underestimate someone from Two, but Clove was more cunning and ruthless than even her neighbors expected. She was perfect. You remember watching her Games a few years ago in awe, as if the nimble, brilliant figure on the screen wasn’t a girl but a god. You had always wanted to enter the Games, but watching Clove, you knew you had to have it. You had to be a Victor, just like her. It was that or fade into obscurity, another almost-was nothing.
District Two loves its Victors with a burning passion, but the only emotion stronger than that love is the hate it directs towards its failures. You know of many has-beens who trained their whole lives for the Games only to miss their chance, their names never pulled in the Reaping and who let a brief moment of cowardice stop them from volunteering. They spend the rest of their days losing their hunters’ instincts in drink and despair, lamenting to any passersby how close they came to glory. Any parent would rather have a casket of a child who died bravely than a photo of someone who just couldn’t get it done.
Failure is inexcusable. You’ve known this since you were young. You only have two years left before you age out of the Reaping. The window of time to secure your legacy is slipping through your fingertips like sand. Either you enter the Games, or you’re shunted aside forever, another grown up wunderkind who never became a wonder. Everyone’s watching you now, waiting to see if you’ll complete your destiny or succumb to fear and stay out of the Arena.
You won’t let them down. The day of the Reaping approaches, and your hands can hardly stop trembling from excitement. Either your name will be called or you’ll volunteer, but regardless, you will be sending yourself to the Capitol, heaven help the poor girl who tries to get in your way. Then you’ll prove yourself, another day in the gymnasiums throwing knives into dummies or training with the instructors, and you’ll come home a Victor, elevated to glory, finally with enough to eat and a sturdy roof over your head.
You dress quickly in the morning and head out of your home, sparing one last glance at the familiar structure before you go. With all luck, this will be the last time you see this place. When you come back from the Games, you’ll be moved to Victor’s Village. You intentionally take a path to the district center that passes by the Village, unable to stop your eyes from longingly roving over the lines of luxurious houses. You can see a few lights in the windows despite the early hour, Victors eager to gather again and relive the golden memories of their time in the limelight.
One of them is emerging from their house at the moment, shutting the door softly behind them. They startle slightly when they see you, and you realize that you know this Victor by the dark locks of hair framing her face. The early morning sun shines in her dark eyes, which narrow slightly when she takes in the sight of you. It’s Clove, you’d know her anywhere. You’ve spent countless hours reviewing her Games again and again, watching every move, learning from every twist of the knife or stab in the dark.
You’re not honestly sure if she knows you. You would have crossed paths in school, of course, but that was before she became a Victor, and you’re certain all of that time must have felt like nothing compared to the success of her life now. Once you win the Hunger Games, everything changes. That’s what you’ve heard, at least. It’s not like any of the Victors bother to slum it with the rest of you enough to impart words of wisdom like that.
Your heart leaps in your chest, wondering if she’s also headed to the Reaping, if she’ll maybe even walk with you. Your hopes are swiftly dashed when Clove instead turns in the opposite direction, quickly disappearing out of sight. She must be going on a walk or something to clear her thoughts. Shaking your head with a small amount of regret, you carry on towards the center of Two. You’ll have plenty of time to see her after you join her in Victor’s Village.
The thought sets your heart alight, and your steps become lighter, carrying you on a tide of eagerness towards your fate. More citizens of Two appear from their homes as you walk, emerging from locked doors or dawnlit streets. Suddenly, you’re surrounded by a growing flood of people, all hastening to hear who will become the latest pair of soon-to-be heroes for Two.
The stream separates once you reach the fences erected around the city square. Adults and young children head directly into the center, forming orderly lines to view the Reaping. Teenagers split off, headed for the Peacekeepers tallying those who enter. You slowly progress through the lines of candidates checking in, carefully eyeing those around you. Who among your ranks is also hoping for the Games this year? Who of the boys would be your partner? Hopefully not someone you know, you would hate to be responsible for the death of a friend. Grimly, you set your jaw. Regardless of who is beside you on the train to the Capitol, you’ll win. You have to win. There is no option except your victory.
You reach the front of the line at last, accepting the prick of your finger to verify your identity. The Peacekeeper nods, and you at last progress past him to the city square. Lines are forming according to age; you join your classmates, back straight and proud. This is the last year you’ll stand here, among the nameless rest. The next time the Reaping comes to town, you’ll be with the Victors on stage, proud, carrying the honor of your district.
You scan the Victors onstage and find Clove. She’s at the front, but looks displeased with it, shifting slightly from the obvious attention. Once the camera is on her, though, a nudge from the Victor beside her is all it takes and Clove is back to her steadfast self, gritty and determined as always.
You suffer through the usual speech about the glory of Panem and the need for the Hunger Games, and then before you know it, it’s time for the Reaping to begin. Ladies’ names are called first, as always, and your hands clench into fists at your sides. All of a sudden, your heart is in your throat, and for someone who’s been waiting for this moment for years, you’re oddly terrified. For a moment, a voice in the back of your head asks if you really want to be doing this, and then–
“Y/N L/N!” The voice of your Capitol representative echoes over the crowd, and your head snaps up. It’s happened. You didn’t even have to volunteer. It happened to you.
Hands rise out of the crowd, patting you on the back. Your friends are grinning at you, their eyes a mess of jealousy. You’ll be the one to bring back the title to Two, not one of them. They’re furious at you for stealing the glory and desperately grateful that you’ve spared them from the Arena, not that anyone would be foolish enough to put that into words. Not that anyone could put it into words at all. Such clarity only exists when you’re on the other end of a knife.
Your feet carry you up to the stage, where you take your place next to the beaming woman from the Capitol. Boys are next, and it’s someone you’ve seen before a few times. You think he sat next to you in class last year, his house is two streets over from yours. He’s strong. You’ll have to be careful.
The woman from the Capitol raises both of your hands, and your district rewards you with applause. You can’t help but beam back at them in triumph, and then you’re being ushered away into the mayor’s office to receive congratulations from your family. Peacekeepers rush in soon enough to guide you to the train. It all seems to happen in a blur, saying your goodbyes for now, watching the crowds wave to you, then your whole life rushing away from you in a smear of happy faces and train tracks.
Then Two is gone, and all you can see out the windows is a racing landscape you’ve never walked before. Only now do you have the time to take in the luxury of the train, the dazed surprise on the face of the male tribute, and the Victors shuffling around the dining car on their way back to their own rooms.
You walk over to them eagerly. “So? Who do we get for Mentors this year?”
A tall man, the Victor ten years ago, laughs abruptly at you. “Aren’t you eager? You’ll get Clove. If you have any questions, ask her, not us.”
He chuckles derisively again, then grabs one last drink and walks briskly away, not sparing a single glance towards you. The rest of the Victors disappear with him, until the only ones left in the car are you, Clove, the male tribute, and another Mentor, who beckons for your schoolmate to follow him to the opposite side of the car.
You glance at them, confused. “Aren’t we going to talk together?”
Clove snorts next to you, idly sipping at a glass of water. “He’s not your friend anymore. Why would he help you by talking? We’re not going to sit in a circle and share our feelings, if that’s what you wanted.”
Her tone makes you defensive. “I’m not expecting summer camp, I want guidance from the Victors. Yet they’re nowhere to be found.”
Clove looks bemused. “Only the Mentors are required to talk to you. I drew the short straw this year, so I have to help you out. Otherwise I’d be gossiping in the drinks car, too.”
Your hero worship vanishes in a flash, replaced by cold anger. “I’m so sorry that this is so hard on you. It must be really difficult to have to talk to someone from your own district a few times. I’m not asking for miracles, Clove, but I do expect you to actually mentor me.”
Clove sits up in a second, eyes hardening. “You don’t know a thing about what it’s like. You got stuck in these Games, big deal. You’ll be dead in two days regardless of what I tell you. Congratulations, your life is over. If you’re somehow still alive in a week, I’ll apologize for the fact that none of them want to talk to you, but until then, you’ll have to deal with my attitude. Sounds good?”
You draw back in surprise. “I’m going to win these Games. As my Mentor, shouldn’t you believe that?”
Clove doesn’t bat an eye. “I’ve heard that before. Guess how many ended up telling the truth? You’re stuck with a bad deal that no one wants. The sooner you accept that, the better.”
“I’m not going to accept anything,” you say forcefully. “I wanted this, by the way. If my name hadn’t been called, I would have volunteered.”
Clove scoffs again. “Yeah, right. Everyone says that, yet we’ve had two Volunteers in eight years. Everyone gets scared when it finally hits them that they’ll die in the Arena. It would have gotten to you, too.”
You shake your head firmly. “You’re wrong. I would have volunteered because I know I’m going to win. I’ve been training for this my whole life. I’m ready.”
Clove’s bitterness leaves her, replaced by something like pity. “Everyone in Two has trained their whole lives for this. Still, we seem to have an awful lot of caskets, don’t we?”
Her words strike a chord, but you refuse to show it on your face. “I’ll make a bet with you, then. If I win the Games and walk out of here alive, you have to admit that your cynicism is worthless.”
Clove arches a brow. “And if you lose?”
You smile thinly. “Then you can gloat over my corpse.”
She lets out a half-laugh. “Your sense of humor is remarkable. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say you’d fit right in with us.”
This time, you smile for real. “Trust me, Clove. I’ll fit in just fine.”
Regardless of whether or not she truly does believe you, Clove opens up a little more after that. You spend the rest of the train ride developing an initial strategy. Despite yourself, you keep your voice low so the other tribute from Two can’t hear, and the two of you stay on opposite sides of the car the whole time, building secrets, planning alliances.
Clove isn’t what you expected, that’s for sure. You had assumed that she would be proud of her time in the Games, that all of the Victors would be. Maybe it was naive to expect everyone to just sit around swapping stories of their grisly wins in the Games, but you thought you’d hear from someone other than your Mentor.
Then again, if you were going to hear from anyone, Clove seems like the best option. She’s the most recent Victor, so time hasn’t clouded her memories yet. Some of her advice isn’t new to you, like to always keep a source of fresh water and only take out the strongest candidates in groups, but you’re surprised by some tips too. Always sleep with one eye open, she says. Volunteer to take the first watch when you’re not sure of the loyalties of your group.
You can’t help but eye the other tribute from across the traincar. You’ll team up with the other Careers at first, of course, but only one person can win the Hunger Games. At some point, you’ll stop watching his back, or kill him outright. It’s him or you, and you have to win. After all, you’ve promised Clove as much, and you hardly plan to let her down.
Arriving at the Capitol is a blur. The faces beaming up at you from the station are gaudy and painted. You almost laugh at them before you catch Clove silently warning you with a shake of her head, and you keep yourself in check. After that, you’re led to the prep team to be made over. You’re mostly silent while they buzz around you, plotting your next moves. You’ll have the parade to contest with, of course, then training sessions and interviews. You’re most concerned with what to do in your private session with the Gamemakers. They’ve seen a lifetime of contenders, how could you possibly stand out?
The parade comes soon enough. For District Two, masonry, your stylists have gone with a statuesque look, dressing you and the other tribute up like old gods. There’s a crown of gold laurel leaves in your hair, mimicking the Victor’s crown you’ll wear soon enough, and marble cloth is draped exquisitely about you, kept in place with golden pins and a matching belt. You’ve had the chance to look at a mirror, and you hardly recognize yourself. It’s like you have a twin, another girl who might have been you in a former life. This is a Victor, you tell yourself. This is the person you have to be.
Clove is waiting for you by your chariot. Around you, prep teams and tributes chatter endlessly, fixing clothes, adjusting headpieces, whispering secrets. Peacekeepers stand sentinel everywhere, a silent reminder that the only way to go is forward. There is no escape, not here. Not that you’d want an escape, of course. You’re exactly where you want to be.
Clove folds her arms when she sees you, taking in your outfit critically. “I think I liked my parade getup better,” she says by way of greeting.
Now that you’re expecting her straightforward remarks, you don’t take the barb personally. “Yeah? How about you tell me all about it, Mentor?”
She actually grins at that. “Later, maybe. I don’t think hearing about how good I looked will be useful right now.”
You laugh quietly. “Maybe not. What do you recommend, then? How do I succeed in the parade?”
Clove’s hand darts out to fix a fold of your dress. “Just smile and wave. Look like you love this.”
“I do,” you answer honestly. How could you not? You can hear the roar of the crowd building with every moment. When was the last time that many people were delighted at the sheer thought of seeing you? When was the last time anyone cared enough that you existed?
Clove’s lips purse at your remark, but she hides her disapproval quickly. “You’ll be fine. Keep that woebegotten optimism and they’ll love you.”
“Yeah?” You ask. “They’ll love the look, at least. I look–”
Good, you want to say. You look good, for once. Before you can say it, though, Clove cuts you off. “I don’t know,” she says a little too quickly, “I think I’ll be happier when all that makeup is off. Easier to look at you.”
You laugh to hide the odd prick of unhappiness in your gut. You’d wanted Clove to like your new look, you’d wanted her to love it just as much as the Capitol, although you can’t quite say why. “So I’m blindingly attractive, then? I’ll take that as a positive.”
She snorts. “Get on the chariot. If you say anything like that in the interviews, they’ll think you’re insane.”
You roll your eyes, albeit fondly, and do as told. The other tribute is already waiting for you, and you stand shoulder to shoulder, perfect statues for the Capitol citizens to adore. You glance back at Clove one last time, but she’s already gone, disappeared into the throng of partygoers waiting to love you. You try to crane your neck and see where she went, but the tributes from District One are already starting to move, and your horses are picking up their feet, ready to carry you into the spotlight.
The parade is nothing like you ever could have dreamed. It’s so loud that you feel the cheers in your bones, dancing up the soles of your feet, drumming between your ribs. You remember waving, beaming ear to ear until your face hurt, and you remember the Capitol citizens waving back at you, cheering when you made eye contact with any one of them. The chariot took you on a loop of the crowds, stopping in front of a stage with a raised podium. Once the last chariot rolls into place, President Snow rises and takes his place.
Staring up at the man, you can’t help but fear a roll of nerves chill your stomach, icing out the joy of the screaming crowds. This is the most powerful man in Panem. He’s the reason you’re here. He’s the reason you can’t ever leave. He says a few things– greetings, expectations of glory for the Games, and then the tributes are leaving again, but that unsettled feeling doesn’t.
You only start to feel more like yourself once you’ve had the opportunity to get dressed in normal clothes again and wash the spray and paint from your body. Clove meets you in the reclining room of the District Two quarters, lounging on one of the luridly lime sofas. She’s the picture of unconcerned relaxation, yet you notice the tension in her spine, the defensive curl in her shoulders. You’d expect any Victor to be at home in the Capitol, but she seems to hate it even more than Two. It surprises you more than you care to admit.
You take a seat on the sofa next to her, idly pushing aside one of the chartreuse throw pillows. “What did sponsors think of the parade?”
Clove nods. “They were impressed. You looked like a solid competitor. Of course, so did One and Four, but you already knew that. I saw you scoping out the competition while Snow was talking.”
You glance at her, surprised. “You were watching me that closely?”
“It’s my job to watch you closely,” Clove says. “That means I have to know everything about you so I can convince the sponsors you’re worth the investment.”
“And do you?” You ask openly.
Clove studies you for a moment before responding. “Yes,” she says decisively. Her voice drops a little before she continues. “For the first time in my life, I would very much like to lose a bet, Y/N. Give me a reason to believe you’ll make it out alive.”
“I will,” you promise. Her eyes are heavy on you, making you subconscious. Your skin still feels fresh from scrubbing all of the makeup off. “Wish I could dress up like the parade every day. It’d be easier to draft sponsors to my side when I still looked like a goddess.”
“I don’t know,” Clove says, shrugging a little too casually. “I like this better.”
Your breath catches in your throat. You have to assume that she doesn’t mean it, that she says this to get you to trust her, but– It’s only the two of you down here, after all. No one is around to hear you except the empty halls. The walls seem to cocoon you down here, you and her and the threat of your imminent death hanging over you.
“How am I supposed to do it?” You ask softly. “How am I supposed to go from trusting the other Careers to watch my back to killing them all?”
Clove’s face tightens and she stares down at her hands. “It'll be easier than you think. Leave them before they think about leaving you.”
You remember this from Clove’s games. It had seemed like a bad move at the time, she’d abandoned her group even while there were still some non-Career tributes out there. Then the boy from Four had slaughtered both tributes from One in the middle of the night, and everyone had quickly realized that Clove had saved herself before the group turned on each other.
Then again, maybe it hadn’t been Clove’s ability to sense the tension in the group. After all, Clove hadn’t left on her own, but slit the throat of the girl from Four in the night as a parting gift.
You nod. “I have to be the one to make the first move.”
Clove shuffles closer to you. “Either you kill first or you’re the first to die. Which option do you prefer?”
You breathe out quietly, suddenly aware of the delicacy of the movements, the urgency of your heart beating between your ribs. Any of these vital processes could be interrupted by the slash of a blade, the impact of an arrow. It’s you or them. It’s you or them.
“I’ll kill first,” you say in a rush. “I’ll kill first, and then I’ll finish it. And then I go home.”
“And then you come home,” Clove repeats. “Do you think you can do that for me?”
You’re so close to her now that you feel like you could breathe her in. Your shoulders are pressed together, and when she tilts her face towards yours to hear your answer, you can feel the heat of her like the glow of a fire.
“I can do it,” you whisper.
Clove reaches out an idle hand to rub away a smudge of gold dust left over from the parade. Her finger rests on your clavicle, tracing over the hard rise of bone. “I know you will.”
The training sessions come next. Clove advises you to enter these with confidence. The others will treat you like a Career, so you cannot falter or fail to meet expectations in the slightest. You throw your knives at targets halfway across the room and meet cold center every time. When you look up, everyone is staring at you, some afraid, some almost hungry. What is it about young people that makes them so desperate for death? They’d kill themselves just to kill you.
After the second day of training, you find yourself frustrated. You hate this game you have to play, the demand for performances before the other tributes. You’re all going to kill each other anyway, why bother with the theatrics? Let the Games begin. They can see just how good you are then.
After attempting to burn the anger out of you with a particularly hot shower, you dress in loose-fitting clothes and stumble into your private quarters just to find Clove waiting for you. You startle, not knowing how long she’d been there.
“You should really lock these doors,” Clove says, gesturing towards the entrance to your room. “Next time, it won’t be me. Maybe your other tribute.”
“The doors don’t lock,” you complain.
“Then find something else,” Clove counters. “Wedge something under the doors. Block the handle from engaging. You have to keep yourself safe out there, I can’t always be doing it for you.”
You huff out a breath. “I doubt the other tributes will be attempting to surprise me in the shower.”
Clove’s eyes flick to the steam-covered mirror behind you, then back to you. Slowly, she pads over, standing right in front of you. “Then it’ll be while you’re sleeping, or while you’re eating. Anytime your guard is down. If you don’t believe me, feel free to wait until their sword is between your ribs.”
She jabs your ribs with her finger to emphasize her point, but her hand lingers, drawing invisible circles on the fabric of your shirt. Your skill still feels warm from the shower, hotter still wherever her touch follows. You can’t help but marvel at how entitled she seems to you, your time, your skin. Whenever she wants, Clove can come to you, keep her hands on you, all in the name of saving your life. Is this what mentorship is, then? It makes you hers?
“I think I’m glad you’re my mentor, not his,” you murmur under your breath.
Clove shifts impossibly closer, as if to steal your whisper before it even leaves your lips. “And why is that?”
You laugh under your breath. “If I knew you were doing this with someone else, I’d–”
She cuts you off, smirking slightly. “What, kill them? Maybe I should, then. I want you to be mad enough to kill them.”
She moves towards the door, and you feel the absence of her touch like ice the second she leaves you. Before you know what you’re doing, you’re lunging forward, grabbing her wrist, pulling her back to you. You’re too hasty, though, and you overcompensate. Clove ends up closer to you than she had been, too close, and then the last of your self-control leaves you and you kiss her. If you had imagined something like this a week ago, it could only have been a dream. You kissing a Victor, the one you’d idolized forever, but it’s true, it’s your Clove who curls her hand around the back of your neck to pull you closer still. If you could melt into her completely, you would.
She pulls away slightly, whispering in the ragged space of half-breaths between you, “Tell me you’ll win the Games.”
“I will,” you insist, anything to bring her back to you again. “I’ll kill the rest of them, I don’t care. I’ll come back.”
“Good,” she says, supremely satisfied, and finally lets you kiss her again.
You’re cool and confident when it comes time for the private training session before the Gamemakers. You’re the fourth tribute to appear before them, so thankfully they’re still interested in paying attention. Your efforts are rewarded by a high score once everyone has been evaluated, which is further benefitted by your stellar appearance in the interview with Caesar Flickerman. What can you say? You have some extraordinary motivation, and she’s happiest when you’re doing well.
Before you know it, it’s time for the Games. Clove walks with you as far as she can go, and leaves you with a goodbye only; you’re not stupid enough to kiss her out here, where the cameras are watching and the Peacekeepers too. There was time for that in your room before you left, and there will be more time still once you win the Games. You’ve promised that enough times, first to yourself and now many times between stolen kisses to Clove, that it seems to ring in your head with every heartbeat. You will win the Games. You will win the Games. There is no other option.
The light shines in your eyes when you reach the Arena. The tributes stand in a ring shaped like the laurel wreath you’d worn only a few nights ago, everyone nervously eyeing each other. You stand on your podium, watching the countdown slowly tick towards zero, and then all at once the cannon blares and the Hunger Games begin.
You stop thinking. Everything from before this moment fades away– District Two, your home, your family, the Capitol itself. The only thing you can remember is Clove’s voice in your head, telling you to win, and the adrenaline burning through your chest. You’re aware that someone is running full-tilt to the Cornucopia, grabbing knives, ripping through the chest of the boy from Six, but you can’t honestly say that person is you.
When the ground steadies itself and the rush on the Cornucopia is over, most of the surviving tributes have fled towards rocky outcroppings on the edge of the clearing, seeking shelter away from the deathly violence. Bodies litter the ground, maybe eleven or twelve, and you’re in a group of four Careers. You recognize both tributes from One as well as the boy from your district.
You had expected to live vicariously through the Games, to delight in the practical application of your skills. With every boom of the cannon, though, you feel your grisly need for glory slipping through your fingertips. You see the precious need to win in the eyes of every tribute you kill. No one here is any better than you are, any more worthy. You’re all the same. You’re just kids, kids thrust into the Arena. If you received any special training as a Career, it wasn’t to ensure your survival, it was just to provide a little extra entertainment to the Capitol citizens at home. Your years of training in the gymnasium are just another bauble on your dress in the Parade, or a quippy remark in your interview with Caesar. You’re a toy, a pawn, a piece in a greater game. Even the Victors have no power here.
In the midst of your madness, however, you’re kept steady by Clove. She’d warned you for when this moment would come, the point at which you’d realize that glory and gore only get you so far. She makes sure the sponsors keep sending you gifts, and you can feel her presence in every bottle of water, every canister of medicine dropped to you by silver parachutes.
A week into your Games, you start to become aware of bubbling tension between the Careers. You think back to one of your first conversations with Clove about how to know when to let go of your alliances and act on your own. When the boy from One starts getting snappy with the other tribute from Two, you know your time has come. That night, you volunteer to take first watch, and follow in your mentor’s footsteps. Once the last of them drift off to sleep, you take your knife and calmly kill the boy from One. You make it quick, he won’t even feel it. It’s better than everyone else got.
Standing up, you slip the bloody blade into the hand of the boy from your home district. When the cannon blast wakes the remaining two, the girl from One will see the weapon in Two’s hand and assume he did it. They’ll tear each other apart while you’re miles away. You slip away in the dense night, making sure to keep your trail undetectable, and are rewarded with extra food when you find a place to stay for the night. Clove approves of your tribute to her.
Judging by the two cannon booms sometime later, you can tell that your plan worked. The remaining week and a half are spent in hiding, drawing out to hunt down the remaining tributes before retreating back to secrecy again. By the time the final cannon booms across the empty Arena, your left knee is broken, your ribs have been pummeled, and your arms are weeping blood, but you’ve done it. You’ve won the Hunger Games. You’ve kept your promise.
You’re taken back to the Capitol to receive medical treatment and get cleaned up before your victory appearance before President Snow. Once you’ve been all stitched up, Clove sneaks into the medical area, leaning over your hospital bed with a faint smile.
“I think this means you win the bet,” she says lightly.
You chuckle quietly, ignoring the bite in your fractured ribs. “Did you approve of my performance?”
She lets out a heavy sigh. “You had me worried most of the time, but yes, Y/N, I’m proud of you. You won.”
You smile, letting the first wave of relaxation hit your perennially stressed body. “I made a promise, didn’t I?”
Clove reaches over to take your hand. “I’ve heard that promise before. You’re the first to keep it.”
“Now we’re done,” you whisper. “No more Arena. No more killing.”
Clove looks away, grief heavy in her expression. “You won’t want to hear this, but this is just the beginning. You’re a Mentor now. You’ll come back every year and watch more tributes die. It never ends, Y/N. It never ends. They always die.”
“Not always,” you remind her. “Maybe you’ll be surprised again.”
She chuckles disbelievingly. “Are you ever going to lose that stupid optimism?”
“Why should I?” You smile. “It seems to have gotten me pretty far.”
Clove tries to look disapproving, but she can’t quite manage it, and settles for pressing a quiet kiss to your lips. “Rest up. You’ll be needed soon enough.”
You nod, mentally gritting yourself for the show to follow. “Then we go home?”
Clove nods, squeezing your hand. “Then we go home.”
You’ve wanted this moment all your life, the glory of Victory, the exultation of living in the Victor’s Village, bringing honor to your District. However, all of that fades away in comparison now that you know you won’t be doing it alone. Clove will be by your side the whole time, two Victors, two girls with gilded crowns dripping blood. It’ll take you a long time to let down your guard, to stop flinching at loud sounds or sudden footsteps. Maybe you never will, but at least you’ll always have someone there to tell you it’s alright, to keep the nightmares at bay. You have Clove. That, at last, is enough.
the hunger games tag list: @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope
I wanted to ask for a Valorant character matchup! Before I start, just a heads-up—English is my third language, so I might make a few mistakes. Please don’t mind them!
Let me tell you a bit about myself first. I have honey brown hair that falls just below my shoulders, dark green eyes, full red lips, and a skin tone that’s somewhere between light and dark. I’m 17 years old, Spanish, and I’ve been living in Italy since I was 5 (my family moved here for financial reasons). I have a 12-year-old brother, and sometimes we play “SmackDown in real life”—I know, sounds wild, right? I use she/her pronouns.
You might remember a user named "sedoeru" who also asked for a matchup—that’s my best friend! We go to the same school, our houses are really close, and we spend almost every moment together. I do have other friends, but I’m not always completely comfortable around them.
I’m on the school football team and I love playing football—my dream is to become a professional player. But I also know that’s not the most secure path, so I care about my studies too. My favorite subject is math, but I’m actually best at chemistry.
Outside of school and sports, I love spending time with my brother or friends, painting with oils, decorating rocks, reading books, and doing little crafts. Even though I’ve lived in Italy for 12 years, I still struggle with understanding some expressions, and sometimes I can't find the right words to respond. When that happens, sedoeru speaks up for me, but I don’t really like relying on her for that—it makes me feel like I seem shy or like I can’t stand up for myself.
Still, my friends say I’m affectionate, friendly, funny, and super loyal. I’m always open to trying new things, and I love reading—especially crime, fantasy, and mystery novels. Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings are my favorite fantasy series, and Agatha Christie is my favorite author. I can be really loud when I’m happy (oops), and I love playfully annoying the people I care about—especially sedoeru! (Don’t be mad, I love you!) Making the people I love laugh and being physically affectionate with them is something I really enjoy.
For the matchup, the character can be either yandere or normal—whatever you think fits best!
I match you with...
They love playing “Smackdown in real life” with you, the amount of times they have invited others to watch, and in their words “Oi Mateo, come watch me beat Y/N!”
They would rather watch you play football than play it but if you ask they’ll join you, they do also encourage your dream but will also be there if it doesn’t happen.
The amount of rocks you both share since you tend to decorate them and Clove loves collecting them. Them and any little crafts you make them are being put on a shelf.
Clove doesn’t ever mind if you need them to help with something although if don’t want help them they won’t push.
If you want to try something new then they are right there with you, they just hope it’s the same the other way around.
Just them fr fr! But they do also get loud when happy and playfully annoy close friends, so be prepared to have the same thing happen to you. It is funny for everyone else watching you two go back and forth.
Request: Clove Viper sage and killjoy being seduced for attention by thier S/O no matter what thier doing S/O won't stop trying to get thier attention and will eventually just start kissing thier neck or biting thier ear till they cave take S/O to the bed for private time
Requested by: @golem543
“C’mon lad/lass, I hafta finish this work~” Their whines didn’t deter you in the slightest, you wanted their attention and you wanted it now, so you were going to get it. Their grip on the pen tightened, knuckles nearly going white as they tried their hardest to focus. You weren’t making this easy.
“Clove, you just got back from a mission and I missed you~” Leaning into your hand as it threaded through their hair, slowly easing the pen away from their grasp while slowly turning them towards you.
“Why not come to bed, it’ll still be here when you come back.” “It would… fine.” Clove smiled as you celebrated, wasting no time pulling them towards the bed.
“Sabine~” Even as you draped yourself across her desk and whined, it didn’t work, her attention still on her work. “C’mon, it’s been hours, just take a break!” Stepping around the desk to stand behind her, arms sliding down her shoulders until you were leaning on her back.
Watching her hand pause for a second before continuing, you huffed. Fine then, if she wants to be difficult, then so be it.
Slowly leaning closer to her neck, lips moving to kiss her ear before quickly changing to biting. At the contact you felt her shiver slightly, hand finally stopping. “Y/N…” Releasing her ear to speak, “Now you wanna talk?” She huffed this time, “Now that you’re changing tactics, yes. And I can’t let you get away with that.”
Standing in the doorway of the infirmary waiting for Sage to look over, only for her to continue work. “Sage? Wei? Love of my life?” From your view you were unable to see the smile form on her face, fighting off the urge to laugh.
But she did have some work to finish, some forms about the latest mission. Which did involve you getting injured. “Don’t ignore me~” Suddenly dropping your body onto her back, leaning your chin on her shoulder, watching her finish some forms.
As she wasn’t budging you had to go a step further. Turning your head ever so slightly before nipping her neck, causing her to jump but not move you. When she didn’t give you more attention you bit down harder, sucking on the spot as she paused writing.
“Y/N, you shouldn’t be up, you know?” Finally pulling away from her neck, “But my nurse isn’t keeping me company.” God, she couldn’t resist you, especially when she did leave you alone.
It’s been hours since you joined Klara, sitting next to her and watching her work on different tools. Even longer since she said she would come out and join you, so you came to her. Which didn’t work out in your favour.
Scanning the desk for a clean spot before starting your plan, standing as you pulled and turned her towards you. Suddenly picking her up, legs quickly wrapping around your waist while her arms were around your neck. “Y/N!”
“What, you said you’d join me earlier?” Eye widened as she remembered what she said, she can apologize soon, once you two get to her room.
Request: Clove Jett neon and killjoy being walked in on while making out with S/O reader by an older agent like brimstone
Requested by: @golem543
“Clove, aren’t you meant to be training right now?” “Yeah, but it can wait, I can’t!” Your words only encouraged them, their hands moving even quicker across your body. Becoming less and less careful as the seconds passed, teeth nipping your lip.
“Clove, did you find–” As light poured into the small space you both jumped off eachother. In the doorway was Sova, who was clearly looking for Clove, who was in here with you. “Uhh, no?” “I see…” Slowly closing the door as you two still stood there, it was clear their training wasn’t going to happen today.
“Where are those two?” Everyone else was back, except for you and Jett. While Brimstone was worried he also knew you two could handle yourselves, but it didn’t stop him going out to search for you two. Luckily enough all the enemies had cleared out, so he came across none.
“C’mon Han, we gotta get going, they’re probably waiting for us.” You got no verbal response from her, instead she pulled you back into your little ‘private time’. “Han, we–” “Jett, Y/N.”
In a panic you shoved Jett off you, accidentally sending her onto the ground. “Brimstone! We were, uh…” “Just… hurry back.”
“Yeah? What else happened?” Your girlfriend was trying to tell you a story, except for the fact you kept interrupting her. And not the normal, chatting way, no. You were cutting her off by giving her kisses, which has caused her to become distracted.
Stopping her story to keep your lips locked. Although this caused you both to not pay attention to anything outside you two, mainly a certain someone calling out for Neon and then the door opening.
“Neon, Sage needs…” Sighing when neither of you flinched the slightest, “Amor joven, she’ll understand.” Letting the door shut behind her.
“Where have you two gone?” Cypher muttered as he flipped through the cameras, nearly every screen showed nothing. On the other hand, you two were smart, or rather Killjoy was. Pulling you into a small side room out of view of any cameras.
“Woah, Klara, I just got back. Slow down will ya?” Hearing her whine from where she was attached at your neck, “But Liebe, you were gone for so long!” Moving up from your now bruised neck, focusing on your lips.
“I know bu–” “So this is where you were hiding?” Instantly Klara backed off while you tried to hide the marks, but you knew it was no use. Of course Cypher had to come in now, and he wasn't even surprised. You bet he knew what he was doing.
