Coriolanus Snow Shirt Novels & Stories

“Eileen, join us to help with the pack?” I groaned but held out a hand which he grabbed and pulled me to my feet. I expected a blast of cold when the furs fell away but the Morrigan’s dress did as she had said, and kept me unnaturally comfortable. The long green sleeves only slightly wrinkled from sleeping on them. I found my heavy coat and pulled on a fresh pair of thermal leggings and my boots before stepping out into the snow. A fresh dusting of snow had fallen overnight, coating the world in a soft powder.

"Calm down, Uncle Cor... your hair..." And that was how the reunion happened; loud, cranky, and humorous. ☪ ✧ ✧ The snow is falling heavily and the wind is shivering them. We sat in front of the furnace for several minutes to warm up. Meanwhile, Cormelio is reviewing the letter from Lanasia and the present I brought; the gold and souvenirs.

“Announcement. Snow-clothes and leathers on. Snow at one foot. Prepare to exit the bunker. All bunker doors will be opened in an hour. We did it.” “YES!” Elvie cried, as the three of us shared a hug. One hour meant we all sprinted back to our rooms. The biting cold of those first few hours outside was always a shock no matter how warmly you wrapped up. Corina’s wardrobe of fine, long fur coats and chunky furry hats had been raided meaning the dozen girls who queued at the end of corridor five to use the ladder all looked dramatically glamorous for a change. The Rogues gave me deja vu. Their shining black leathers, trimmed with grey fur. They had been such terrifying figures when we first saw

Willow bent down to pick the dog up, petting it lovingly, and said, "Are you hungry, little one? Let me give you some food." Snowy just barked in reply. After she was done feeding Snowy, she decided to take a shower next. She caught sight of the black men's shirt when she went to fetch her bathrobe. She'd worn it so many nights before as Julian held her in his arms. Truth be told, she had felt her resolve shaking for those nights he held her in his arms. She stared at the shirt for a long while. Then, she took it off the hanger and threw it straight into the trash.

“Her family’s butler, Wendel, told me that if I want to learn more about PowerHub’s secrets, I shouldn't kill Lindsay. That’s why I’ve decided to humiliate her and goad her into getting revenge, then use her as a lead to slowly discover more clues about PowerHub.” After pondering briefly, Snow nodded and looked at him. “I get what you mean. The thing is, I don’t know where to buy that maid outfit—it was a gift from Serena.” Kiran stroked his nose. “I guess that perv knows stuff like this best.” “How about you take mine?” Snow asked tentatively. “Okay! I’ll buy a new one for you another time!” Kiran agreed with a smile. “Don’t you dare!” Snow hurriedly refused and swore to herself not to wear

With that, she quickly returned to her office to work on my unfinished report. Feeling too restless to sit any longer, I got up from my chair. I walked over to the window, looking out at the world but not really seeing anything, lost once again in my thoughts. Ten minutes later, Mr. Snow stepped out of his office, a bag in hand. Today, he had cast aside his usual business attire for a more casual look. He was clad in a cozy charcoal-grey cable knit sweater that contrasted with his blonde hair, paired with dark wash jeans and sturdy black boots. A thick navy-blue coat was draped over his arm, ready for the biting mountain cold that awaited us.

The descent from the fractured crest of the Whispering Gorge was a treacherous, bone-chilling trek through shifting shale and razor-sharp ice shelves, but neither Killian nor I slowed our pace. The howling mountain winds whipped furiously against us, tearing at the heavy crimson velvet of Commander Jarek’s Royal cloak that I wore clasped beneath my chin. The fabric snapped violently in the gale like a banner of defiance, a vivid slash of blood-red against the stark, monochromatic wilderness of the peaks.

Sometimes probably but right now I want to wear my big boy’s pants or big girl’s in this scenario anyway. A minute passed. I rang the doorbell again. Finally, I heard the faint sound of footsteps, which grew louder until the door swung open and I found myself face-to-face with the angel of death. He’d taken off his jacket, but otherwise, he still wore his work outfit— a charcoal gray, two-piece suit from Brunello Cucinelli crafted from ultra fine Merino wool and silk blend. A white Turnbull button down shirt. A Loro Piana navy blue cashmere crewneck sweater over his shirt. His trousers tailored so perfectly and with his John lobb leather shoes, he looked so perfectly put together and I looke

But the silk gown was completely gone. Instead, I was drowning in a massive, heavy black button-down shirt. The hem of the garment fell all the way past my mid-thighs, the fabric so large it completely swallowed my frame. The moment I clutched the collar to my chest, a thick, suffocating wave of frostbitten pine swirled around my senses. It was his shirt. It carried the raw, unadulterated essence of Alpha Varg’s skin, sinking deep into my lungs and instantly triggering a frantic, needy purr from my inner wolf.