Jacksepticeye Hoodie Novels & Stories

A familiar cartoon pattern stretched across the material, slightly torn at the edges. “Boss,” he called, his voice grim. “We got something.” One of the agents stepped forward, holding a small blue race car in his gloved hand. “This is his, right?” Then I saw it. Kai’s hoodie—his favourite one, the navy blue one with the small rip near the sleeve. It lay discarded near a rusted metal chair, the sight of it made my stomach twist painfully. “Oh my God,” I breathed, covering my mouth with trembling hands.

“I’ll make sure to treat it with respect.” Curious, I inspected the hoodie as I went to the bathroom to put it on. It had a symbol of a shield and sword in the center, with the initials ‘LRA’ stitched in red underneath. I pulled the oversized hoodie over my head. It was way too big, but it felt nice, and it still smelled a bit like Nate. He always smelled good. When I walked out again, Nate was already sitting on his bed with a laptop on his lap. “And?” I called out, spreading my arms. “How do I look?”

His grip on the strap of his violin case tightens. I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the possibility. "Do you want me to kidnap you?" "Maybe," he shrugs, his expression unreadable. I can't believe this guy! As the light wind blows, Jasper's hair stirs, his ponytail slightly disheveled with strands framing his forehead and nearly obscuring his eyes. He's dressed in an all-black ensemble. An oversized shirt, a black hoodie with green dragon eyes, and baggy jeans. I've never seen him wear anything colorful, and I find myself wondering how he'd look in red.

I started sleeping in his hockey jersey during the second week after his flight left. It wasn't a Colorado jersey; there was no Colorado gear in our possession yet. It was his old Providence minor-league jersey, the dark fabric that said HAYES across the shoulders and featured the number seventeen stitched into the back. It had been hanging on the hook behind the doorless bedroom door since the morning he packed his bags. I took it down at two o’clock in the morning when the bond was at its absolute loudest volume in my chest, and I slipped the heavy mesh over my regular cotton sleep clothes.

Beneath them stood rows of polished leather boots and rugged jackets. I bypassed the suits, searching for something comfortable, until my eyes landed on a thick, soft grey hoodie. Rummaging a bit further, I found a drawer filled with his Calvin Klein designer boxers. I pulled out a matching light grey pair and slipped them on. Thankfully, because he was so massive, the boxers sat comfortably high on my waist, the hem reaching halfway down my thighs, while the oversized hoodie swallowed my frame completely, falling almost to my knees. It looked quite decent on me—like a cozy, makeshift dress.

They never tried to force me to go after that. As the others began to change into their swim attire, I went back upstairs and into our room to grab my jacket from my bag. It was a black hoodie with an image of a pouting cat in the middle, which my mom thought was cute when she gifted it to me. She says that the hoodie reminded her of me, which I am still debating if is a compliment.

Plus socks. As for Gerald, I'm bewildered. Finally, my choice fell to the hoodie. Hopefully, it can become the favorite hoodie among dozens of his other hoodies. This time, I bought a black hoodie. Because most of Gerald's hoodies are gray and maroon, even though he likes green, the green hoodie collection is only a few. Ah, my handsome husband. There wasn't the slightest gap in his physique that made me feel even more attractive. It makes me even more annoyed by him. My handsome, sweet popcorn, my husband. Kelsea's father.

They were so welcoming and fun to talk to, although there was this one I was particularly interested in He was really hot if I do say so myself, he's baby-blue eyes were in contrast with his dark hair which looked like he had been running his hand through it the whole night. He was wearing a plain black shirt with a denim jacket that read 'be whatever you want' on the left shoulder, torn black jeans and moonlight sneaks. You could see his muscles underneath his shirt and a tattoo on his wrist that looked like a skull with thorns coming out of its eyes and beneath it writing that looked scribbled. I couldn't read it but it looked really cool...maybe it's because it was on him after all. "Hey!

“The fact that we can buy blue body paint on DoorDash and nobody bats an eye is sort of amazing,” James says as he walks back into the bedroom with a small paper bag. “Yeah,” I agree. “But did you also get the horns?” He gives me a look, “no because it’s not Halloween.” I shrug, “then it spoils the illusion.” He stares as me for a second before leaving the room and coming back several minutes later with an army helmet that has a pair of long horns sticking from it. “How about this?”

Badly. Sliding out of bed, I threw on a hoodie and leggings and made my way downstairs. The kitchen in the packhouse was massive, with sleek countertops and polished appliances that gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows. I figured I’d sneak in, grab my coffee, and retreat back to my room unnoticed. But, of course, nothing ever goes as planned. The moment I rounded the corner, I froze. Jake stood by the counter, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he sipped from a steaming mug. He wore a black T-shirt and dark jeans, his messy hair still damp from a shower.