Pleasantries of 'Love' 18+ (Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader) Chapter 2 - Veiled Intentions
A/N: Hey everyone! Iâm finally back with the long-awaited Chapter 2 of Pleasantries of 'Loveâ! I know itâs been a little while since my last update, and I want to thank each of you for your patience and support. Iâm so excited for you all to read this chapter, and I truly hope itâs been worth the wait. Your kind comments and encouragement mean the world to me, and Iâm so grateful for you all!
Also, just a heads up, Chapter 6 of Threads of Freedom will be uploaded in the next day or so! I canât wait for you to see where the story goes next. Iâm juggling both stories right now, but I promise Iâm working hard to keep things moving along from now on.
Now, Iâve got a couple of polls coming your way! Iâve been thinking a lot about the age gap between Coriolanus and the reader, and Iâd love to get your input on how big you think it should be. Iâve got a few ideas in mind, but I want to see what you all think! Iâm also debating whether the reader should be 19 or 20 in this story, so there will be another poll for that as well. Lastly, since this chapter is nearly 9k words long, Iâd love to hear what you think. Do you like the length, or would you prefer it to be shorter? Or a bit longer even?
Sorry if thereâs a bit of a poll overload, haha! Iâm just really eager to know your thoughts and get some feedback. Thanks again for your support, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!
Word Count: 8.8k words
Warnings: Power Imbalance, fixation, manipulation, obsession themes, social pressure, control, age gap, jealousy, gendered expectation, objectification, traditional expectations/views, coercion, unhealthy relationship dynamics (Coriolanus and Reader), eventual smut and eventual arranged marriage [Let me know if I missed any]
The quiet hum of the limousine filled the space between them, a soft vibration beneath her fingertips as she kept her hands neatly folded in her lap. Beyond the tinted windows, the Capitol glowed with golden light, its towering buildings standing tall against the dark sky. The streets below were still alive with movement, people wrapped in extravagant fabrics, laughing, sipping on sparkling drinks, indulging in the kind of luxury that never seemed to sleep. The world outside was grand, dazzling, overwhelming.
But inside the limousine, the air felt different. Quieter. Closer. Intimate.
Y/n sat with the perfect posture that could only be learnt by constant years of correction by her family, her hands clasped together gently, her eyes lowered ever so slightly. Even now, she could feel the warmth in her cheeks, the remnants of a flustered blush that refused to fade. The evening had been more than she could have ever imagined. The grandeur of the restaurant, the rich scent of roses woven into the air, the way President Snowâs attention had rested so fully on her. It had been unnerving, yet⊠oddly enchanting. And now, in the soft glow of the limousineâs interior, she was more aware of him than ever.
He sat beside her, poised and composed, exuding an effortless authority that made her stomach tighten with nerves. His presence was commanding, though he did nothing outright to demand attention, it simply followed him, clung to him like an unspoken rule that everyone obeyed. She swallowed, willing herself to stay calm, though the knowledge that they were alone made her heart flutter wildly in her chest.
The silence stretched until his voice, smooth, deliberate, and far too knowing, cut through it.
âItâs rare,â he mused, as if merely thinking aloud, âto find company that makes an evening feel⊠worthwhile.â
Y/nâs breath caught in her throat. She turned her head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, though the moment her eyes locked with his, she immediately wished she hadnât. His piercing blue eyes were fixed on her, watching and studying her with his expression unreadable yet wholly consuming. A warmth crept up her neck, her fingers tightening slightly over the fabric of her dress.
âOh,â she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her lashes fluttered as she quickly looked down, unable to hold his gaze for too long without feeling her heartbeat stutter. The weight of his attention was overwhelming, pressing against her like a velvet glove, soft yet suffocating. âThatâs very kind of you to say, Mr. President.â
He didnât respond right away. The pause was long enough that her nerves prickled with unease, and she hesitantly glanced up again, searching his face. His expression remained composed, but there was something unreadable in his gaze, something flickering just beneath the surface. For the briefest moment, she thought she saw the glint of something sharp, was it annoyance? Displeasure? But before she could be certain, it was gone, smoothed away like a wrinkle pressed from fine silk.
Then, smoothly, effortlessly, he corrected her once again that night.
âCoriolanus,â he murmured, the syllables drawn out with a quiet patience that made her breath hitch. âYou know this, doll, I donât want to have to repeat myself.â
Y/n blinked, startled by the sudden intimacy of his wording. Doll.
The word settled over her like a warm ribbon, curling around her spine, making her heel-covered toes press against the floor of the limousine as if grounding herself would stop the flustered heat creeping up her neck for what seemed like the hundredth time tonight. The way he said it, both low, deliberate, as though he were reminding her of something already established, sent a shiver down her back.
She knew she should correct herself, should apologise for the slip, but the word lingered between them, unchallenged. It felt strange, almost improper, but not in the way society would deem scandalous. It was improper because of how it made her feel. How it twisted something deep within her, something she didnât quite understand or want to acknowledge yet.
Her fingers curled into the soft fabric of her dress, creasing it slightly. âI didnât mean to forget, Mr President, I mean-â She stopped herself, cheeks burning brightly, utterly mortified at how flustered she sounded.
The corner of his mouth quirked as if entertained by her struggle. âYou didnât forget,â he mused, tilting his head ever so slightly, studying her. âYouâre simply hesitant.â
She swallowed, her gaze dropping again. The name felt far too personal to use considering they hadn't known each other for that long, too bold for her to say aloud, even at the dinner, it felt odd to voice his name. After all, he was the President, a man of great power. âI just⊠I donât wish to be disrespectful to you.â
He hummed a quiet, knowing sound. âDisrespect?â His voice held a faint trace of amusement. âDoll, if I took offence to such things, do you think Iâd be here with you now?â
She didnât know how to respond to that. So she said nothing, only nodding slightly, hoping it would be enough to satisfy him.
But Coriolanus Snow was not a man who was easily satisfied, nor a man to back down.
He watched her for a moment longer, the corners of his lips barely tilting, not quite a smile, more of an acknowledgment, as if he had already anticipated her response. The way she folded into herself, so careful, so nervous, so impossibly sweet, it was almost endearing. Almost.
With an exhale, he spoke, staring down at her. âYouâre overthinking, doll,â he said, his voice smooth, the kind of quiet authority that left no room for argument. âI wouldnât be here if I didnât want to be.â
She stiffened slightly at his words, her fingers curling tighter around the fabric of her dress. It wasnât that she doubted him, of course, he had no obligation to be here, but the thought of it, the idea that he had willingly given her his time, that he had chosen her, bewildered her in ways she couldnât explain.
âI-I know,â she murmured, but her voice lacked conviction.
He leaned back against the leather seat, the ambient glow of the Capitolâs skyline casting sharp shadows across his features. âDo you?â he mused, tilting his head just slightly in a form of mocking, but it washed right over her head. âBecause you keep acting as though you donât. As though Iâm here out of obligation. Thatâs not the case.â His tone remained light, almost thoughtful, but there was something firm beneath it, something that sent a nervous tremor through her.
Y/n lowered her gaze, her fingers twisting together in her lap as she tried to steady the warmth creeping up her neck. She hadnât meant to offend him and hadnât even realised that her hesitance could be taken that way. But the idea of him choosing to be here, wanting to spend his evening with her, felt too grand to accept so easily.
âI didnât mean to imply that,â she said softly, barely above a whisper. âI justâŠâ She hesitated, searching for the right words. âItâs still⊠difficult to believe.â
A quiet hum left him contemplative. âDifficult to believe?â he repeated as if testing the phrase out himself. âAnd why is that?â
She shifted slightly in her seat. âBecause youâreâŠâ she trailed off, cheeks heating under his expectant gaze. Because youâre Coriolanus Snow. Because he was powerful and poised and impossible to ignore. Because men like him didnât just choose to sit across from girls like her.
He arched a brow at her unfinished sentence. âIâm what, exactly?â
She swallowed, feeling foolish for even thinking it. âImportant,â she finally said. âBusy. You have the entire country to run, and Iâm justâŠâ Her voice faltered, the weight of her own insecurities pressing down on her. âI donât see what I could possibly ever offer in return for your time.â
For the first time, Coriolanus exhaled a quiet laugh, not mocking, but as if she had said something amusingly naive. His fingers tapped idly against his knee as he regarded her, his gaze unreadable.
âThatâs where youâre mistaken, Darling.â His voice was smoother now, more deliberate. âYou think time is something I give freely? That I waste it on people who have nothing to offer me?â
She stiffened, shaking her head quickly. âNo, no, I definitely didnât mean-â
He lifted a hand slightly, silencing her stumbling words immediately. âI donât do things without reason,â he continued, his tone measured. âAnd I certainly donât keep company unless I find it worthwhile.â His eyes never left hers, holding her there, forcing her to take in every word. âSo stop questioning it.â
Y/n sucked in a quiet breath, nodding quickly. âYes, sir,â she said instinctively, her voice barely above a whisper.
His lips twitched-just slightly, just enough to tell her he had caught the slip. The moment stretched between them, thick with something she couldnât name.
âCoriolanus,â he reminded her again, softening his tone this time.
She hesitated, then nodded again, forcing the name past her lips. ââŠCoriolanus.â
He looked satisfied with that, at least for now. âBetter.â His gaze flickered toward the window as the limousine began to slow, signalling their arrival. âI trust youâll remember that next time.â
She wasnât sure if it was a command or a suggestion. But either way, she knew she wouldnât forget.
For a few minutes, silence settled between them, save for the quiet hum of the limousine gliding through the city streets of Panem. Y/n turned her head toward the window, her eyes flitting across the dazzling display of lights that stretched endlessly into the night. The Capitol was breathtaking in its extravagance, golden chandeliers glowing through towering glass windows, illuminated fountains bubbling in the distance, streets lined with opulence at every turn. It felt almost otherworldly, a place crafted for spectacle and indulgence. She watched as a couple in lavish attire strolled along a grand avenue, their laughter light and carefree, so utterly at ease in a world she still struggled to comprehend. For a moment, she allowed herself to be distracted by it all, to lose herself in the shimmering beauty just beyond the glass.
âThe Capitol will talk,â he murmured, breaking the silence once more, his tone almost absentminded, as if the thought did not bother him in the slightest. âA quiet young woman, seated across from me at dinner⊠theyâll be insatiable.â
As he spoke, Coriolanus shifted slightly in his seat, his long fingers moving with practised ease as he adjusted the crisp lapels of his suit. The subtle motion drew Y/nâs eyes downward before she could stop herself. Her gaze lingered for a moment too long, tracing the way the fabric stretched over his broad shoulders, the way his cufflinks gleamed under the soft lighting. Then, lower, to his hands where his veins stood out against his pale skin, the sharp, elegant lines of his knuckles, the smooth control with which he moved his fingers.
Heat crept up her neck before she even realised what was happening. She blinked, quickly looking away, pressing her hands together in her lap as if that might stop the sudden, flustered warmth pooling in her chest and banish the improper thoughts forming in the back of her mind.
She swallowed hard, hoping the dim lighting inside the limousine might conceal the growing pink dusting her cheeks or the fact that she was eyeing up the President. But when she dared to glance upward, she wished she hadnât, she found his gaze already on her, unreadable yet entirely knowing, like he had caught her staring and was merely waiting for her to acknowledge it herself.
She parted her lips to speak, but not a single sound escaped, her throat tightening as she found herself ensnared by his piercing blue gaze. The weight of it made her squirm in her seat. His gaze was more unsettling than the cold air circulating through the limousine, yet it still made her heart flutter. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, the kind that made her stomach twist. With deliberate ease, he finished adjusting his suit, his fingers brushing over the pristine fabric before his gaze dragged down the length of her, drinking her in just as she had done to him.
âYou do realise,â he murmured, his voice rich with amusement, restating his previous comment with more vigour. âThe Capitol will be talking soon enough. Their beloved president being seen with such... captivating company such as yourself.â He let the words settle between them before adding, almost lazily, âThough, given how openly you were admiring me, Iâd say you won't mind the attention much.â
The words sent a ripple of unease through her. Of course, she knew how the Capitol worked. She had seen it before, how the slightest thing could turn into something far grander than itself, how people whispered and speculated and twisted stories into whatever they found most entertaining.
Her hands tightened in her lap, her voice small when she finally managed to speak. âI⊠I donât want to cause any troubleâŠâ
His chuckle was quiet and smooth with a hint of warmth. âThat,â he said, tilting his head slightly in her direction, âMy dear is far out of your hands now.â
Eventually, the limousine glided through the gates of her familyâs estate, the sleek vehicleâs tyres smoothly passing over the road as they approached the grand manor, her home. The estate was bathed in the soft, golden light of the Capitolâs evening, the stone pillars of the manorâs exterior standing tall and imposing. The vehicle came to a stop at the front steps of her manor
Her gaze shifted toward the upper floor of the house, where, through the window, she saw a small figure partially hidden behind the curtains, a faint outline of her younger sister, barely visible but unmistakable in her attempt to sneak a peek at her arrival. Y/n couldnât help but smile softly to herself. Even in the quiet of the night, her sisterâs curiosity was evident, and the thought of her waiting up to hear about her evening filled Y/n with a sense of warmth.
Before she could linger on the thought, Coriolanus appeared in front of her and smoothly opened the door of the limousine, stepping out with the same practised ease as before. He extended his hand toward her, a gesture that seemed even more natural now, as though it were second nature for him. Y/n hesitated for only a moment before placing her hand in his, his touch cool but firm as he helped her out of the car.
The moment she stood on the ground, the night air felt cooler against her skin, but his presence seemed to absorb the chill. She glanced back up at her familyâs grand manor as Coriolanus guided her toward the steps, the soft glow of light from her sisterâs room still visible through the window. A flicker of movement caught her eye, her sisterâs figure vanishing behind the curtain, no doubt excited to hear all the details of the evening.
With a gentle smile that graced her lips, Y/n turned her attention back to Coriolanus, allowing him to lead her up the front steps. The soft click of her heels on the stone echoed through the quiet night, and with each step, she felt herself inching closer to the threshold of her home.
Just as they reached the front door of her manor, Coriolanusâs hand brushed lightly against her wrist, grasping it in his hand, halting her in place beside him. Before she could question it, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, withdrawing a single white rose, its petals pristine and delicate beneath the dim glow of the entrance lights. With a practised ease, he snapped the stem to a shorter length, then reached up, tucking it gently behind her ear.
"You wear beauty well, my dear," he murmured in her ear, his voice smooth, dangerously soft as he leaned in, his breath a whisper against her skin.
Y/n felt the warmth rise swiftly to her cheeks, her lips parting slightly, though no words came to her. Her heart fluttered in response, a nervous thrill weaving through her chest as she lowered her gaze shyly. By the time she gathered the courage to glance back up at him, Coriolanus had already straightened his posture, his expression composed, as though the moment had been nothing at all. Yet the faintest trace of a grin lingered on his lips as he reached for her hand, tugging her just a little closer to his side while they waited for the door to open.
Y/n's pulse quickened as they waited at the door, the quiet hum of the evening still hanging in the air. Coriolanusâs presence beside her seemed to fill the space, spreading a feeling of warmth through her, even as they paused in front of the large, ornate door to the manor. Before Y/n could even turn the handle, the door swung open with a soft creak, revealing her mother standing eagerly on the other side.
Her motherâs eyes lit up as she took in the sight of her daughter, her face flushed with excitement from the eveningâs events. "Y/N, my dear! You're home, darling," she exclaimed, her voice filled with warmth and enthusiasm. Her hands fluttered to her chest as if in awe of the occasion. "And⊠Mr. President! Itâs an honour to have you at our doorstep once again!"
Y/n's heart fluttered uncomfortably at the mention of the title. But before she could form a response, her mother took a quick step forward, offering a welcoming smile. "Would you care to come inside, Mr. Snow? Weâd be honoured to have you."
Coriolanus, ever the composed gentleman, shook his head with a soft smile that never quite reached his eyes. "I appreciate the invitation, Mrs. Y/l/n, but I must decline. I have already overstayed my welcome, perhaps next time." His voice was smooth, polite, with a touch of finality, as if he were accustomed to the boundaries of such social pleasantries. His eyes briefly flickered toward Y/n, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Goodnight, Chevy," he said, turning toward her with an air of quiet intensity. "It was a pleasure to spend the evening with you."
As he spoke her name, he leaned in just a fraction closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Iâll be looking forward to our next encounter," he whispered, his tone low and enticing, though no one would have guessed the subtle weight behind it. His words were like a secret promise, making her skin flush as she tried to steady herself in front of her family.
Y/n nodded numbly, her heart racing, her pulse a beat too fast as she felt herself drawn to him in ways she didnât fully understand. She couldnât tear her gaze away from his cool, calculating blue eyes, and despite his courteous manners, there was a sense of ownership in his presence that unsettled and thrilled her at the same time.
Before she could respond, her mother gave a small, disappointed sigh but quickly hid it behind another joyous smile. "Very well, then. Thank you for escorting my daughter home, Mr. Snow. Youâre always welcome here."
Y/n could feel her fatherâs more composed presence behind them in the hallway, his posture straight as he observed the interaction with a quiet intensity, not too eager for the closeness of his daughter and the young president before him. His gaze flickered between his wifeâs excited expression and Coriolanus's dignified manners, a subtle hint of wariness beneath his calm demeanour.
From around the corner of the staircase, her younger sister peeked her head out, her wide eyes gleaming with curiosity as she caught sight of the scene. It was clear she had been trying to stay in bed, but the thrill of seeing Coriolanus Snow at their doorstep had been too much for her to resist. Y/n couldnât help but smile inwardly at her sisterâs eagerness.
Coriolanus, still standing by the front steps, gave a small, sly nod to Y/nâs sister, offering a courteous smile, though it was fleeting. "Goodnight," he said simply, before turning on his heel with the same quiet elegance with which he followed him like a shadow.
Y/n stood there for a long moment, watching as he climbed back into the limousine, the door closing with a soft click behind him. The vehicle pulled away into the night, leaving her standing in the warm light of the doorway, her heart pounding in her chest.
Inside the house, her mother immediately rushed to Y/nâs side, eager to hear every detail of the evening, but Y/nâs mind was elsewhere on the whispered words, on the way heâd looked at her, and the way his presence had lingered long after heâd left like a blanket on a frosty winter night.
And she couldnât help but feel helplessly drawn to him, even as a part of her instinctively whispered that the path ahead was more complicated than she could imagine.
Inside, the warmth of the manor enveloped her, a stark contrast to the cool night air. Her mother and younger sister were already waiting in the sitting room, their faces alight with anticipation.
 âTell us everything.â Her mother breathed, taking in the sight of her with barely contained excitement.Â
Her younger sister had dropped the act of being sneaky and bounded over to her eldest sister, bouncing on her feet. âWas he charming? He mustâve been. And what is that?â She gasped. âIs that a rose?â
Y/nâs cheeks burned as she reached up, fingers brushing the delicate petals. âHe⊠gave it to me before he left,â she admitted quietly.
The reaction was immediate.
Her mother clasped her hands together in delight, while her sister squealed, grabbing her hands and dragging her toward the settee. âItâs like something out of a storybook!â
Y/n allowed herself a soft laugh, though she kept her words measured as she recounted the evening about how grand the restaurant had been, how exquisite the meal was, and how he had spoken to her in a way that felt both unnerving and strangely flattering. She left out the moments that had truly unsettled her, the way his gaze had lingered a little too long for comfort, the subtle weight of his words.
Across the room, her father stood by the doorway, silent.
Unlike the others, he did not gush or pry. His expression was unreadable, though Y/n could see the hesitation in his eyes, the wariness of a man who had spent his life understanding the power of people like Snow.
âA man like himâŠâ he said finally, his voice quiet but firm, âdoes not give his time lightly.â He met her gaze, his eyes filled with something deeper than mere concern. âJust be cautious, sweetheart.â
Y/n smiled softly and shook her head in disbelief at his comment, but she nodded in agreement nonetheless. âI will, Father.â She took his comment with a grain of salt, far too excited to understand her father's implications.
Her father lingered for only a moment more before turning away, leaving the three of them to their giddy excitement that lingered far on into the night.
-Three days later-
The Capitol was already ablaze with whispers.
It started subtly with an elegant picture in one of the glossy publications, taken slyly as Snow had escorted her both to and from the restaurant. Soon, there were murmurs in the boutiques, hushed conversations in high-end cafés, and, inevitably, bold headlines speculating what her presence at his side meant.
Was this a political alliance? A new darling of the Capitol? Or something more?
Y/n caught the whispers everywhere, and with each passing day, her name seemed more entwined with Coriolanus Snowâs. It was a dizzying but intoxicating experience, like stepping into a dream spun from silk and starlight. Every glance, every conversation they had shared, every lingering mention of her name alongside his felt surreal, an impossible fantasy woven into reality.
The world around her seemed to shift, its edges softened by the warmth of whispered admiration and envious sighs. She was no longer just Y/n Y/l/n, she was the young woman who had captured the Presidentâs attention and possibly his heart.
And despite the uncertainty, despite the way her heart fluttered with nerves whenever she thought of him, there was something undeniably thrilling about it. It was a bliss, unlike anything she had ever known, a secret kind of joy that set her soul alight, flooding her system as if she had been swept into the pages of a story far grander than she could have ever imagined.
Her family viewed it as the highest honour possible. Her mother beamed with pride constantly, and her sister gushed endlessly to her school friends about her eldest sister and the president, and even her father, though he was still wary of the young man he still acknowledged that she had done something no one else had: captured the attention of the most powerful man in Panem and that was not to be taken lightly.
Later that day, Y/n found herself stepping through the glass doors of a charming little tea lounge with Clara and Rose at her side. The boutique-style cafĂ© was nestled neatly between two glittering storefronts, a luxurious millinerâs shop displaying elegant feathered hats in its windows and a jewellery boutique where diamonds caught the sunlight like tiny stars. The scent of fresh pastries and steeped tea drifted out as the trio entered, their heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor.
The cafe itself was warm, pastel and bright, with sunlight streaming through tall windows draped in sheer white curtains. The tables were delicate things, small and round with intricate lace cloths, and every setting had its own porcelain teacup, hand-painted with tiny pastel flowers. Crystal vases filled with soft pink peonies and creamy white roses sat atop each table, adding to the airy, romantic feel of the place.
Y/n, Clara, and Rose found a table tucked near one of the windows, giving them a perfect view of the bustling street beyond. They sank into the plush velvet chairs with a happy sigh, already giddy from the prettiness of it all. A waitress dressed smartly in a black dress with a crisp white apron appeared with a small leather menu, offering them a kind smile before leaving them to look.
The menu was delicate and refined, offering things like lavender scones, rosewater macarons, and artfully arranged finger sandwiches. Y/n ran her fingertips lightly over the gold-embossed lettering before glancing up at her friends, their faces practically glowing with excitement.
Across from her sat Clara and Rose, who were positively brimming with energy. Clara, with her warm brown eyes sparkling beneath faintly wavy chestnut hair, and Rose, with her riot of ginger curls and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose that only seemed to stand out more under the golden afternoon sun.
They each picked something light, a shared tower of assorted pastries and delicate tea served in a tall glass pot. As they placed their order, Y/n felt the faint, nervous flutter in her stomach again, sensing that their conversation was about to turn, inevitably, to him.
"I still can't believe it," Rose gushed first, unable to contain herself. She leaned forward, her elbows on the lace-draped table despite the disapproving glance of a nearby server. Her blue eyes were wide with excitement. "You dined with President Snow! Y/n, you sly young lady!"
Clara giggled, a musical sound, reaching across the table to lightly squeeze Y/nâs hand. "And not just dined, you were escorted by him. Thatâs not something he does for just anyone, you know." She grinned, practically bouncing in her seat.
Y/n flushed, feeling the warmth rise in her cheeks as she quickly looked down, stirring her tea to keep herself busy under their intense, affectionate stares. "It wasnât it wasnât like that," she protested softly, though even to her own ears, the words sounded flimsy and unsure. How could she explain the strange, magnetic pull he seemed to have, the way he looked at her like she was something rare, something meant to be treasured and kept close?
Rose clutched her chest dramatically, making Clara laugh harder. "If it wasnât like that, why do you look like you're about to float out of that very chair, hmm?"
Y/n ducked her head, hiding her flustered smile behind the rim of her delicate teacup. Her fingers fidgeted slightly against the porcelain, the soft clink of her spoon giving her away. "Really, itâs nothing," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper as she stirred her tea, needlessly adding a small bit of extra sugar to her already sweet cup of tea and stirring it once more.
Desperate to escape the topic, she cleared her throat softly and glanced toward the window. "Did you see the new window display at the boutique next door? I heard they just got a shipment from the Capitol's spring collection-"
But Clara and Rose were having none of it.
"Oh no, youâre not getting away that easily," Clara said with a mischievous grin, leaning in even closer. "Exactly," Rose added, tossing a wild ginger curl over her shoulder with a sparkle in her freckled cheeks. "Spring dresses can wait. We need every single detail."
Y/nâs heart fluttered helplessly as she sunk a little deeper into her seat, the gentle laughter of her friends wrapping around her like the soft sunlight filling the room. It was hopeless and, secretly, she didn't mind one bit.
Clara smirked behind her teacup, exchanging a knowing look with Rose that made Y/n instantly wary. "You know youâve been smiling the entire time, right?" Clara teased, setting her cup down with a faint clink. "You never smile this much unless itâs something or someone special."
"I have not!" Y/n protested, though the heat rising in her cheeks betrayed her the moment the words left her mouth. âAnd I always smile, it's good manners.â She defended weekly.
Rose let out a delighted little laugh, covering her mouth with her hand like she was trying to be discreet but failing miserably. "You have, and it's adorable! You're practically glowing, Y/n. Itâs like something out of one of those fancy Capitol romance dramas."
Before Y/n could even attempt to scramble for a proper defence, the soft jingle of the door caught their attention. A young mother strolled into the tea lounge, gently pushing a polished white stroller adorned with delicate gold trim. Inside, a chubby baby kicked its little feet, gurgling happily under a pale blue blanket. The sight was so sweet that Y/n couldnât help but glance over, her heart squeezing with a wistful tenderness.
The babyâs large, innocent eyes blinked up at Y/n, and for a moment, their gazes locked. The childâs wide eyes seemed so curious, so trusting, and without thinking, Y/n found herself smiling softly at the little one, her features softening as well. The baby, almost as if sensing her warmth, gurgled and cooed, a playful giggle escaping as it wriggled its fingers towards her. Y/n couldnât help but lean forward slightly in her seat, her lips curling into a gentle smile as she caught the childâs gaze.
A flutter of warmth spread through her chest at the simplicity of it, a moment of pure, untainted joy that made her momentarily forget the whirlwind that had come with her association with Coriolanus Snow. She felt the smile tug deeper on her face, her expression softening as she continued to watch the baby, lost in the quiet innocence of the scene before her.
She was still smiling when the mother looked over and caught her eye, giving her a knowing nod of acknowledgment and a sweet smile. Y/n quickly snapped back to the conversation, a flush of embarrassment creeping over her face, though the soft tug of that emotion lingered within her.
And, unfortunately, Rose noticed.
"Oh, look at that," Rose said slyly, nudging Clara with her elbow and casting a meaningful glance at the stroller. "Youâd be such a sweet mother, Y/n. Just picture it, a little one with your perfect hair and those pretty eyes."
"And maybe," Clara added smoothly, her voice dripping with mischief, "hair a few shades lighter perhaps. White, almost. And the sharpest blue eyes anyone's ever seen. Wonder where that would come from? Features only for a Snow baby, isnât that right, Y/n?" Her brown eyes gleamed as she leaned in a little, the teasing note in her voice impossible to miss.
Y/n nearly dropped her spoon, sputtering as she tried to settle them down. "Stop it," she hissed under her breath, glancing around frantically. A few patrons were already glancing curiously in their direction, their elegantly plucked brows raised in amusement. Y/n leaned in over the table, lowering her voice. "You two are being ridiculous. Weâve only been out once for dinner! Once. Youâre getting way ahead of yourselves."
Rose waved her hand airily as if to dismiss Y/nâs concern. "Pff. Once is all it takes with a man like that."
Rose nodded eagerly, a wicked glint in her blue eyes as she picked up right where Clara left off. "Exactly! Did you see the way he was looking at you in that photo outside the restaurant? Honestly, Y/n, it didnât look like he was thinking about dinner at all." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping into a playful whisper. "He looked like he wanted to scoop you up right then and there and take you straight back to that big, fancy presidential penthouse of his instead.â
"Clara! Rose! That's enough!" Y/n gasped, nearly tipping her tea over in her panic. She cast another nervous glance at the nearby tables, cheeks burning hotter than ever. "Honestly, you both are impossible."
Still, even as she tried to shush them and steer the conversation toward safer, less scandalous waters, a tiny, secret part of her clung to the image her friends had so carelessly painted. It drifted through her mind like a sweet, fleeting dream, a peaceful afternoon in a garden bathed in sunlight and warmth, the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers.
In this vision, a little hand, small and soft, reached up for hers, fingers curling around hers with trust and innocence. The sound of children's laughter would echo around them, filling the air with lightness and joy. And in this quiet, tender moment, a pair of blue eyes startlingly similar to Coriolanus Snowâs would gaze up at her, full of innocent wonder and adoration.
Her breath caught at the thought, and her heart fluttered, though she immediately scolded herself. It was foolish, she knew that. Utterly, hopelessly foolish. But no matter how hard she tried to push it away, the thought lingered in the corners of her mind, warm and persistent like a seed buried deep in her chest, waiting to grow.
The conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with excited chatter and giddy theories about what could come next. Clara and Rose bounced ideas off each other, their imaginations running wild with possibilities. Maybe there would be an invitation to a lavish Capitol ball, where Y/n could twirl in a gorgeous gown beneath the glittering chandeliers. Or perhaps, they mused with knowing smiles, something more official, an invitation to an event at the Presidential Palace itself, where Y/n would stand beside Coriolanus Snow as if she were already a fixture at his side.
Y/n laughed along with them, her cheeks flushed with the warmth of their enthusiasm. Their excitement was infectious, and for a brief moment, Y/n felt like she was caught in a dream, wrapped in the cozy comfort of her friends' affections. It felt so sweet, so innocent, a stark contrast to the weight of the world pressing in around her.
The delicate chime of the tea lounge door sounded behind them as Y/n, Clara, and Rose stepped back into the afternoon sunlight. The cityâs golden glow bathed the storefronts, glinting off polished windows and the intricate designs of the boutiques that lined the street. Laughter still bubbled between the three girls, their arms linked and their hearts light.
But as they rounded the corner past the tea lounge, the cheerful warmth dulled slightly. Parked just outside the boutique next door, a glittering hat and jewellery shop famous for catering to Capitol socialites, stood a small cluster of young women, each draped in designer silks and sharp smiles. Their conversation slowed to a murmur when they caught sight of Y/n.
It wasn't loud, nor obvious, but it didnât need to be.
Their glances were practised and cutting, their eyes sliding from Y/nâs simple dress to the soft flush in her cheeks. One of them, tall with an angular frame and sleek blond hair pinned perfectly back, tilted her head and whispered something behind a manicured hand, prompting the others to titter behind her. They pretended to admire a row of jewel-encrusted combs in the display window, but their gazes kept flitting back to Y/n with poorly concealed disdain.
At the centre of the group, however, stood Livia Cardew.
Her presence was unmistakable. She wore a tailored designer dress, the pearl white fabric hugging her figure and ending just at her knees, with delicate pearl beading tracing the hem and sleeves. A pair of slender white gloves clutched a small jewelled handbag at her side as though it were an outlet to her bubbling rage. Her dirty blonde hair, always styled with meticulous care, was swept into a soft, elegant twist at the nape of her neck, held in place by a gleaming silver comb.
She looked every inch the polished Capitol socialite, perfect, poised, and utterly ruthless. Livia wore a smile too polished to be kind. Her eyes, a cold and calculating shade of blue, locked onto Y/n with a look that made the hairs at the back of her neck prickle.
Livia didnât need to say a word; her expression said enough.
ââShe had been chasing after Coriolanus Snow for years now, ever since he had first begun his steady, dazzling climb through the Capitolâs ranks with ruthless brilliance. Livia had been a constant presence at every glittering function, every political gala, every whispered gathering where his power and presence hung thick in the air. She had constantly lingered on the edges of his world, offering carefully calculated smiles, rehearsed laughter, and endless opportunities for him to notice her. Always circling, always waiting like a hawk hovering over its prey, patient and sharp-eyed.
A younger girl from a respected, prosperous family. A girl who hadnât clawed or postured her way through the Capitolâs treacherous social circles, but had instead been gently, almost effortlessly welcomed. A girl who, with one dinner and a few stolen photographs, had already succeeded where Livia had failed.
It stung. It burned. It was a humiliation wrapped in silk and pearls, one that Livia could hardly mask behind her brittle smile.
Y/n, sensing the weight of those eyes on her, straightened her shoulders instinctively, refusing to wilt beneath their scrutiny. Her heart hammered against her ribs with traitorous force, but she kept her chin high, her expression calm, willing herself not to betray the flurry of nerves twisting inside her.
"Ignore them," Clara whispered at her side with a reassuring smile, giving her hand a subtle, grounding squeeze.
"Youâre glowing," Rose added with a wink, leaning in conspiratorially. "Let them stare."
Y/n bit back a shy laugh, letting herself be swept forward by her friends. They crossed the cobbled street together, leaving the bitter glances behind. The air shifted almost immediately as they stepped into the Capitolâs famous flower park, where blooms of every colour stretched out like a living painting.Â
The moment Y/n, Clara, and Rose crossed the busy street, it felt as if they had stepped into another world entirely. The Capitolâs famous flower park stretched out before them, a masterpiece of colours and scents so rich it almost overwhelmed the senses. Every inch of the park was in meticulous care; the trimmed hedges were sculpted into graceful shapes, and the beds of flowers were arranged in elaborate, artistic patterns, like vibrant tapestries woven into the earth itself.
Marble fountains tinkled merrily from the centre of the walkways, each one adorned with statues of mythic figures cradling baskets overflowing with blossoms. The air was heady with the perfume of jasmine, gardenias, and, of course, countless varieties of roses, some traditional deep crimson, others rare shades of gold, lavender, and even a dazzling ice blue that sparkled faintly in the sunlight.
The girls fell into an easy pace, strolling beneath towering trellises dripping with sweet-smelling wisteria and wide oaks hung with delicate ribbons of moss. The light filtered through the leaves in golden patches, scattering across their dresses and hair as if blessing them with little kisses of sunshine.
Y/n found herself breathing easier here, her earlier tension dissolving into the peaceful beauty of their surroundings. Clara and Rose, however, hadnât let up on their playful teasing.
Every time they passed a rose bush, which, given the parkâs adoration for the flower, was often, Rose would make a little dramatic sigh, clasp her hands to her heart, and shoot Y/n a knowing look.
âOh no, Y/n," Rose said theatrically, pausing in front of a bush of creamy white roses, their petals pristine and glowing in the afternoon sun. "Do you think he personally planted these for you? A whole park in your honour, perhaps?"
Clara snorted, reaching out to gently pluck a single fallen petal from the path. She held it up like a piece of evidence. âMark my words," she said with a mischievous glint in her chestnut brown eyes, "one day youâre going to be walking through a garden just like this, only it'll be at his manor."
Y/n could only groan, cheeks warming despite herself. She tried to hide her smile by pretending to be absorbed in the little white daisies peeking up from a nearby bed, but her friends were merciless.
Rose flashed a sly grin, her arm slipping through Y/nâs as she leaned in. âCome on, donât play coy with us," she teased, her eyes sparkling. "Youâre practically glowing. If you smile any more, theyâll think youâre part of the garden decor.â
Y/n rolled her eyes, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she shook her head. âYou two are impossible," she said with an affectionate sigh.
But even as she scolded them, there was a tiny, secret flutter inside her chest at the thought. The image of wandering through a private garden, a hidden place of peace far away from the polished coldness of the Capitol, lingered at the back of her mind more stubbornly than she would ever like to admit.
They wandered for what felt like hours, meandering down winding pathways, stopping to admire the extravagant displays of lilies, orchids, and peonies that looked almost too perfect to be real. Laughter followed them wherever they went, blending easily with the soft rustle of petals in the breeze and the distant splash of the fountains.
-Timeskip later that night-
In the quiet of her bedroom, the soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting delicate shadows across the room. The night was calm, the kind of stillness that seemed to settle deeply into her bones as the world outside her window grew darker. Y/n sat at her vanity, the familiar scent of vanilla from the candles mingling with the faint floral fragrance of the rose she had placed there earlier.
The white rose, still pristine and lively despite the passing few days since the night she had received it from President Snow, stood tall in the crystal vase, a special gift from her mother, an elegant heirloom that had been passed down through the generations. It was almost as if the rose mirrored the evening itself: delicate, pristine, bright but with a subtle strength that was hard to ignore. Y/nâs fingers lightly brushed the smooth glass of the vase as she stared at the rose, her reflection staring back at her in the mirror, her thoughts distant and far away.
She couldnât help but remember how Coriolanus had snapped the flower from its stem and tucked it behind her ear with a gentleness that bestowed his usual authoritative persona. The warmth of the memory lingered, tugging at her heartstrings, making her pulse race all over again. The way he had looked at her, the way heâd made her feel so...noticed, so seen in a way sheâd never experienced before, would be something she would never forget. But it wasnât just the gesture itself; it was everything that came along with it, the quiet weight of his presence, the things unsaid that seemed to hang in the air between them back in the limo.
After a few moments of lingering over the rose, she sighed, a mixture of longing and confusion in her chest. The world felt heavy with possibility, with the swirling, intoxicating feeling of something new, something unexpected. But just as quickly, she pulled herself away from the thought, shaking her head lightly. Stop overthinking, she told herself, standing up from her vanity to slip into her nightgown and blow out the candles.
Her room was serene, the soft rustling of the sheets and the faint hum of the world outside her window providing the only sound. As she moved toward her bed, she glanced back one last time at the rose, her heart a little lighter, but still full of the strange warmth Coriolanusâs presence had left behind like a stain she couldnât quite scrub away or a pin lodged deep in her side, not painful, but always present a reminder that something had shifted in her, and there was no going back
With a sigh, she climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin, lying on her side. The evening had been filled with laughter and teasing from her friends, but now, in the quiet of her room, her thoughts circled back to him, that faint smile that would tung at his lips, his constant gaze upon her, and the way he seemed to promise in his own words that this was just the beginning of something much bigger.
The office was a masterpiece of wealth and power, polished floors gleaming beneath the soft glow of golden light fixtures, casting an ambient warmth over the dark mahogany bookshelves lining the walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering expanse of the Capitol, the city stretching out below him like a kingdom bowed at his feet.
A decanter of aged whiskey sat untouched on the sleek, ebony desk, beside it was a neat stack of documents. Every detail of the room was curated to reflect what he had built, what he had become and what he had accomplished. Behind where he was seated was a large, detailed self-portrait of himself, one which was done by the finest of the artists in Panem, after all, he only accepted the best.
Coriolanus leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers as his gaze drifted over the cityscape. It had been only a few days since that first evening when he had taken Y/n to dinner, and already her name had begun to echo through the halls of the Capitol, being tied to his own like a drop of poison dissolving seamlessly into wine undetectable, inevitable, and wholly in his control. The whispers were growing louder, threads of speculation weaving an intricate narrative of admiration, curiosity, and, most importantly, inevitability. It was all coming together.
He allowed himself a small, measured smile. Y/n was different from the others, not because she was exceptional in any way that truly mattered to him, but because she was perfectly suited for what he needed. A well-mannered, demure young woman with an impeccable reputation, untouched by scandal, intimacy or controversy. She was graceful, obedient in the way that mattered most, and perhaps most importantly, pliable and naive.
It was a slow, deliberate game, and Coriolanus had all the time in the world. He had learned the bitter lessons from his past, lessons he would never speak of, never acknowledge aloud, but they were there, etched deep in the fabric of his mind. Lucy Gray had been a mistake, a reckless distraction that had slipped through his fingers like sand, taunting him with her unpredictability. She had been everything he despised: untamed, free-spirited, and impossible to control. Her wildness had burned in him, but it had also shattered his carefully constructed illusions of power. Her absence had haunted him in ways he could never admit, a jagged reminder of how fragile even his control could be.
Y/n, however, was different. She was like a delicate thread that he could easily pull taut, weaving her into a pattern that suited him. There was no fire in her, no spark of rebellion that could threaten to undo everything he had worked so carefully to build. She was quiet, compliant, just the way he liked them. He would not make the same mistake twice. Y/n would not slip from his grasp like Lucy Gray had. She would not vanish into the shadows, leaving him with nothing but bitter regret. No, this time, he would shape her, mould her into what he needed. And she would never even realise it was happening.
She was already falling, he could see it in the subtle way her eyes softened whenever she looked at him, how her gaze lingered just a moment too long, as though she could almost convince herself that it was normal to feel the heat of his presence in her chest. It was in the quiet, hesitant tremor of her voice when she said his name, that little quiver that betrayed her nerves, yet the unspoken trust that lingered in her words as she talked about her family back at the dinner a few days ago, as though he didn't have a clue.
Speaking as though he didnât already know everything there was to know about them from her parents, to her little sister, and the little details she thought she was offering him out of vulnerability. They were just more pieces of the puzzle he had already neatly assembled in his mind.
There was doubt, of course, he could see it in the careful way she still measured her steps around him. But beneath that, beneath the fear of the unknown, there was something more fragile, more malleable: a growing affection, a budding devotion that she hadnât even realised was beginning to take root.
It was all so painfully naive. She still believed that this was innocent, that it was simply the natural progression of their encounters. She didnât see the strings he had already begun to weave around her, delicate but unbreakable. Her cautiousness was only a thin veil, a fleeting hesitation that would eventually melt away like dew under the sun. She was still so unsure of herself, still so uncertain, yet with every passing moment, she was unknowingly falling deeper into the snare he had set. He didnât need to rush. Time was on his side. And with each carefully placed word, each interaction, her barriers would crumble, piece by piece, until she no longer questioned her place by his side.
Her hesitations would become whispers, silent and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Soon, she would not just want to be there. She would need to be there, beside him, in the place he would carve out for her, her world slowly folding into his. She wouldnât even know how it happened. But by the time she realised it, it would be too late. She would belong to him, heart and soul, without a second thought.
Coriolanus exhaled slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching as he watched the red rose he had taken from the vase on his desk. His fingers wrapped tightly around the delicate stem, the petals soft and fragile beneath his touch. He twisted it slowly, the stem snapping under the pressure, as if the flower itself were a mere symbol, a reflection of the fragile hold he had over her. It was nothing more than an illusion, something to keep up appearances, to distract from the truth. She was already his, she just didnât know it yet.
He would not make the same mistake again.
