Coriolanus Snow Shirt Novels & Stories

Her fingers had long since gone numb, her jaw aching from the constant shivering as every breath she drew burnt in her lungs. But infuriatingly, a pace in front of her, Orion was shirtless, just like he'd been since they escaped the facility, only clad in his dark pants riding low on his waist and his boots that left deep footprints in the snow. The cold didn't seem to touch him. If anything, he looked like he belonged in it. She scowled at his broad back, wondering how he had not turned into a popsicle yet; meanwhile, here she was fighting back hypothermia.

My blonde hair fell down my back in luscious waves, a crown made from wildflowers on my head. Marcel on the other hand, who stood behind me, looking at me through the mirror like I was some creature that fell from the sky, was wearing a tailored black coat embroidered with silver and deep grey thread, matching the symbols on my dress—the same crown, wolf, and moon etched across the shoulders like an oath. A high collar framed his neck, and beneath the coat, he wore a dark grey shirt tucked into black trousers lined with subtle fur at the sides, a tribute to our wolf heritage. His boots were polished, his dark hair slicked back, and a silver pendant—the shape of a wolf head—rested against his

Bianca looked apologetically at Frost's shirt, knowing that it must be expensive and custom-made, with the bottom embroidered with a floral letter "L" "Usually, I can wear my shirt three times, but now I can get a new one ahead of schedule!" Frost replied. "That's so wasteful! Take it off, I promise to clean it for you, at least another 30 times!" Although this behaviour had never belonged to Frost, he still cooperated and took off his shirt, revealing a white short-sleeved T-shirt made of island cotton underneath, which clung to his lean figure. However, Bianca had cried so hard just now that her tears and snot had seeped through the shirt and dirtied the T-shirt.

Co is having a meeting at the company today” I look at him with a frown on my forehead. ” Are you sure about that?” I ask him. ” Yes the meeting is supposed to be in a couple of hours” ” call Mark for me and connect the phone call to me when you get a hold of him” I order him and he quickly takes a leave. If it is true that the owner of Winter. co is in their building today we have an opportunity to get a hold of them. There are no photos of the owner Alex and Kian Winter and no one knows anything of them, it is strange for such a large corporation to have the owner completely in the shadows.

I want to protest, but the conversation wouldn't stop if I did, so I disrobe and wear an ice shirt. God, his cologne is all over this shirt!

As they split up, I catch Frendricks's eye. The slight nod we exchange shows that we both know what we are doing. The commander pulls out the cloth- a small white shirt that is definitely for Alora and he takes in a long hard sniff. My heart nearly stops working at the sight of it, but I force my face to remain with a confused look. The shirt looks worn and familiar- I recognise it as one she often wore while working in the garden at night. It is a long sleeved shirt. Since Alora doesn't have any sweaters to protect her body at night from insects, she always wears the shirt whenever she is working late at night. The shirt is not even originally Alora’s, it is Leah's old, worn out shirt. To m

"For everything I put you through." "Okay," I said carefully. "Why the sudden change of heart?" "I've been watching what you've done with the restitution fund," Corso said. "And it made me realize I was becoming the same person your father was, letting revenge consume everything." Adrian and I looked at each other. "I appreciate that," Adrian said. "But what do you want from us?" "Nothing," Corso said. "I just wanted you to know that I'm withdrawing all opposition to your board positions and your new venture. You've earned the right to build something new."

"When I told him you didn't even have a coat to your name, he left this behind for you. He knows how brutal the winter is for someone without a wolf's blood-warmth." I approached the table slowly, my fingers brushing against the thick, tightly woven wool. It was a high-grade military-style winter coat, insulated with dense fur along the collar and reinforced with heavy leather straps across the chest. It was built for an enforcer, maybe even a commander, impeccably tailored, heavy enough to shield someone from a blizzard, and completely solid. "He just... gave this to me?" I asked, a bit skeptical. In the Crimsonridge Pack, nothing was ever given for free. Every scrap of food, every tunic, e

Took out three neatly folded navy blue T-shirts, each with sleek black lettering across the chest: GRAVES – UNIT 9 In smaller text beneath: Coach // Analyst // Fighter Sloane just looked at it. She didn't smile. Didn't protest. For a while, she didn't even move. Just looked at that piece of uniform she hadn't ordered. Hadn't controlled. And yet somehow... it placed something inside her. "I'm the Analyst?" she asked quietly. "You could say 'the one who sees everything before it happens,'" Marcus replied dryly. Lennox lifted his own. Ran his hand over the fabric. It felt good. Not too thick, but not fragile either. Like something meant to be worn often—not just once.